Second Circle of Hell
by Huldra
Summary: The war is over, and consequences have to be paid. Snape apparently chose the wrong side at the end, and as punishment he is given over to none other than Harry Potter as his personal slave. nonDH compliant
1. The end

**Author: **Huldra  
**Title: **Second Circle of Hell  
**Rating: **M  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all the fictional characters belong to Teh Jo Rowling. All creds go to her.  
**Warnings: **This story will contain **SLASH**! In other words a male/male pairing. I'm stressing this now, so that you won't be disappointed later into the story.  
**Notes:** This story began before DH, and as such is now AU, but I will try to keep as much to canon (not that this is the least bit canon, but y'know) as I can, so I can't promise no spoilers from here on and out.

**Summary: **The war is over, and consequences have to be paid. Snape apparently chose the wrong side at the end, and as punishment he is given over to none other than Harry Potter as his personal slave

* * *

_Green light flashed through the sky. There hadn't even been the words "avada kedavra" to warn him ahead. As he saw his Lord crumble to the ground, Severus Snape knew that this time, he would have no guardian to save him._

It had taken him four years to locate and destroy all the horcoruxes, but he had done it. Harry Potter was now twenty years old, and stood tall and shivering in front of the most feared figure of the entire Wizarding World. The Dark Lord was breathing deeply, probably from exhaustion. Which didn't surprise Harry who was about to fall to the ground himself, but not yet, not until that monster was dead and gone from the world. Rising his wand, Harry could feel the overwhelming hatred, the power of destruction. But no, he would not kill in the name of hatred; he would not turn into another version of what stood before him. Calling forth images of his parents, his loved ones. Every good memory of moments filled with warmth and contentment, everyone and everything he was protecting. What had made him go through years of struggles and uncertainty. He had done it for them to be safe. He would destroy what caused them uneasy sleep and bloodshot eyes. No more. Green light seemed to shoot out from not his wand, but straight from his very soul, his heart. It was so bright it lit up the entire sky. Temporarily blinded, he could only hear the cries of the people on the battlefield. Had he done it? Was it over?

But he got no answer to his questions, as the ground came rushing up to meet him.

The world he woke up to was quiet and dark, illuminated only by a few candles. It smelled of antiseptic, pine needles, bleach and honey. Harry knew those scents better than any other, he was in the hospital wing. Warm and familiar, Harry stretched carefully, making sure everything in his body worked as it should. Finding that it did, and his previous exhaustion completely gone, he sat up in his bed and looked around himself. Every bed was filled with people hurt in different degrees. Some had visitors quietly talking to them or holding their hands with looks of sorrow on their faces. Nurses checked up on the quietly sleeping, to see if their pulse and breathing were still stable, everything lead by a now aging Madame Pomfrey.

But Harry still didn't know, he still didn't know whether he had been able to do the deed he had been destined to do since Voldemort had tried to kill him all those years ago. He had hoped the state of the people around him would have given him an idea, but the sorrow that dominated in the hospital only gave him a feeling of dread. Tossing the blankets aside and placing his bare feet on the cold floor, Harry made his way to Madame Pomfrey who stood talking quietly to one of the nurse maids. The nurse wore a phoenix pin, which meant she worked there out of free will and received no money for it. Harry smiled politely at her and waited until they finished their business before turning to Madame Pomfrey.

'So Harry, you are awake,' she smiled kindly to him, 'it's good to see you on your feet, now that you have saved the world the second time in your short lifetime.'

It took a few seconds before the words sank into him, but when the realization struck, Harry's face lit up in a huge grin.

'It's over?' He asked in relief, it felt as if the greatest burden had been lifted from his shoulders. As it had.

Madame Pomfrey nodded severely, 'but many Death Eaters escaped,' she continued now smiling bitterly, 'they're still killing, now without a second thought seeing as they have nothing more to lose. Their names are known and they don't have a leader to organize them, it's impossible to judge their next attacks. They murder and wound only to bring us down with them. As you see, we didn't win without a cost.' Looking around himself again, Harry could feel some of the exhaustion return to him, and with heavy heart he realized the war was not over just because the source was gone.

'But we are on our way,' Madame Pomfrey reassured, 'having killed Voldemort means there will be no victory for them.'

'You are right,' Harry conceded, 'but could you possibly tell me...' Harry hesitated for a few seconds before plunging into it again, 'could you tell me who made it through the battle, ... And who didn't?' He hadn't wanted to ask this question, the only thing he had wanted was to awaken to find all his friends and loved ones safe with their families. But that was not the reality, and it would probably never be.

'I don't know who was brought to St. Mungos,' Madame Pomfrey said, 'but a bit further down the hall lies Remus Lupin and Neville Longbottom, they will certainly make it. Tonks, Finnigan and Zabini is a bit more critical, we can't say for certain but they are stable at the moment. The Patil girls, Mundugus and many more didn't survive the battlefield at all. I am terribly sorry Harry.' She patted him comfortingly on the arm before hurrying off to one of the beds, leaving Harry alone to think. He was certain she would have mentioned one of the Weasleys or Hermione if she had known anything. So they were either all safe or at St. Mungos. But first of all he would check on Lupin and Neville. Having heard that two of his good friends were both safe had made it just a bit easier for him to breathe.

On a second thought, Harry didn't know how long he had been unconscious, and there were no signs of any of his friends having visited him. With heavy heart and cold feet, Harry made his way down the hospital wing, looking at each side for either Lupin or Neville. He found the werewolf first, and it looked like he slept contently. His hair was completely silver now, and his face more lined, but he was still a beautiful man Harry mused.

After Dumbledore had been killed by Snape in his sixth year, Harry had been the one they had looked up to, the one they had followed. It had been a heavy burden, and at the time he hadn't know whether he could bear it or not. But he had managed it, and now four years after, he stood tall, having vanquished his greatest enemy.

Just the thought of the traitorous Snape made Harry's jaw clench. He wondered if the Slytherin had survived the last battle at all. A corner of his mind gleefully hoped so, just so that Harry could end his life himself.

Bending over Lupin, Harry rested a comforting hand on his brow and smiled. He still had some of his friends, they were still here. It didn't matter what happened to Snape now, it was all over and they had won.

Dumbledore's death had marked a drastic turning point in Harry's life, and everything was divided into before and after that terrible night. Before, Harry had hated his dour and strict potions master. After, he had wanted nothing more than to see the traitor beg for death. It had worn off however, the burning rage and anger at the injustice, as Harry realized there were more important things to do. And what had surprised him more was the clues that had timely showed up every time he had been lost on his road. First he had been quite suspicious of them, but Hermione and Ron had helped him researching, and found them correct every time. Sometimes the clues had to be decoded, as it seemed the person sending them had to be very secretive. Harry had known all the time who the culprit was. What mystified him however was why Snape was helping them after he had killed one of the star players on their team. Once, Harry had gotten the courage to send the man a letter, asking this question and many more. He had never gotten an answer. Harry didn't even know if the man had gotten the letter.

Even though Snape had continued to help them in his way, he never made an appearance again, not until the final battle. He knew better of course, they would have killed him on sight. The letters might have indicated that Snape did indeed work for their side, and Harry had come to grudgingly believe this, no matter how much it wounded his pride. But then, on the battlefield, when Snape pointed his wand, it had not been at Death Eaters. He had fought like one of Voldemort's minions, and Harry's small hopes had been crushed.

_Why?_ This question was churning around and around in his mind as he stared down at his old friend. Snape was going to stay an enigma until the end he decided.

Petting Lupin carefully on the cheek he once again trailed down the ail looking for Neville.

Harry found his old friend sitting up in his bed reading in an old edition of Witch Weekly. Neville looked startled up as Harry cleared his throat and grinned broadly.

'Harry!' he exclaimed in a hoarse voice, 'you're awake finally; I've been so alone over here.' Harry smiled himself and sat down in the chair next to the bed,

'you've been awake long then?' he asked, wondering just how many hours, or maybe days had passed since Voldemort had died.

'Yes well, only a day,' Neville answered, letting the magazine fall to the floor in lack of any tables. He had sensed the unasked question and continued, 'the battle was held yesterday, you haven't been out long.' Letting out a breath of relief, Harry felt himself smile properly for the first time in a long while.

'Do you know anything of Hermione or Ron?' Harry asked, 'or any of the others for that matter?'

'Oh, they are quite all right,' Neville reassured, 'they were here not so many hours ago, checking up on you. But they had to go, everyone healthy has to give a helping hand. The Weasley family is quite in an uproar I've heard.'

'Why?' Harry asked fearfully, expecting the worst. He didn't know how to handle it if anymore of the Weasley family had gotten wounded or died. First it had been Bill who had been attacked by Greyback, then Percy had been found tortured and dumped outside a wizarding village, his memory erased. He had no recollection of what had happened, neither of what information he had given away, something which had broken the otherwise so controlled wizard completely. He had been reunited with his family, but in such a way as no one deserved.

After that, the Weasleys had gotten quite the scare when the twins had returned to their store and found it completely turned upside down, crude bashings of muggleborns graffitied on the walls. It had been a good thing that Fred and George had been away on an Order meeting at the time. Of course, the last and most fatal incident had been prevented by a well timed note. The Death Eaters had found a way around the wards protecting the very core of the Weasleys, namely the Burrow. Harry had gotten the warning just in time to get the family flooed back to their new Order meeting place which was an old, run down muggle factory.

Luckily, no one had gotten killed, but Harry wasn't so sure that luck had held through the final confrontation.

'They have opened their homes to the people who needs comfort after having lost loved ones,' said Neville after a little while, startling Harry out of his reverie. Again he let out a deep shaking breath, so far the news given to him had not been as catastrophic as he had expected. Harry was still awaiting the final blow.

'When are you let out of here?' Harry ask to continue the conversation. Neville shrugged and twiddled his thumbs.

'I don't know, soon I think, they need the beds for people worse wounded than me,' he coughed a bit uncomfortably. 'Er... I've got these seizures you see, and Madame Pomfrey won't let me go until they become less frequent.'

'Seizures?' Harry's eyes grew big, whatever had happened out there on the field while he was occupied with other things? Neville looked reluctant to go on, but the worried look Harry was giving him made him shrug in pretended nonchalance.

'I met, you know, _her_ out there,' he muttered, 'she said she wanted to finish what she had started. So she cast a long series of Criciatus on me. Apparently enough to somehow damage my nerve system for some time.'

'She did _what?_' Harry hissed in outrage, knowing very well who Neville was referring to, the bitch Bellatrix Lestrange, 'where is she now? I'll kill her!'

'No need,' Neville said, his eyes as calm and cold as Harry had ever seen them, 'I have already taken care of that.'

Harry sat back in his seat, mouth half open and staring at the friend he thought he knew. Apparently, he had underestimated Neville, and this was not the first time.

'Good for you mate,' Harry finally managed to say and nodded, 'if anyone deserved the last say, it was you.' Neville smiled bitterly and looked down at his hands, sighing heavily. Now that Harry looked closer, he could see how his hands were shaking. Clenching his teeth in anger he stood, bending over to give Neville a hug.

'I'll just be asking Madame Pomfrey when she intends to let me out,' he said, 'I'll let you sleep now.'

The next day Harry had returned safe and sound back at the Burrow where he was met with many cheers, hugs and kisses on the cheek. It was like heaven being back in his friend's arms, and he explained eagerly many a detail as they asked for them.

But though things where definitely going their way, the war as Madame Pomfrey had stated, was not over. Something which became quite evident as he gazed at all the people in the room. Though they bravely smiled at him while they shook his hand and gave their thanks, he could see the depths of their sorrow in their eyes. These were people who had lost everything in the war.

Harry tried to comfort himself with the fact that they now would have a time ahead were they could rebuild at least parts of their lives again. He was looking forward to a few quiet years himself, after everything was said and done.


	2. The reunion

**Author's Note:** YAY! (that is all I have to say this time) Oh, and of course: thank you all reviewers!

* * *

**The reunion**

A few days had passed since Harry had returned from the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, and he had now just begun to realize the extent of destruction the remaining Death Eaters managed to cause. They were really on a rampage; pillaging, raping, torturing, stealing and killing everything they came across. They sat fire to houses, fields and stores, they killed with both magic and muggle weapons, they could attack in broad daylight in the middle of the street, causing huge massacres.

As time went by, they all began to realize that the Death Eaters were not just aiming casually, they were led by someone. Whether it was a larger group or just one leader, they had no idea. It was rare to catch a Death Eater alive, they seemed to prioritize suicide over prison.

Some of course, had tried to be reasonable, willingly reporting themselves at the Ministry. It was, however, quite disconcerting to see how well Voldemort had learned from his past mistakes. Very few Death Eaters knew anything at all of what had been going on beside their own orders. Only the ones in high positions seemed to hold any sort of information. But they would rather bite of their tongues and drown in their own blood than confess, as Harry had witnessed at one occasion. More human lives had been lost now than through the entire war combined. It was as if Hell had opened it's gates and released all the evil it contained.

---

The Burrow had been reinforced a tenth fold by all the means they knew how, and it was bustling to the edges with people seeking refuge. The old house had grown considerably, now sporting several new floors and rooms, a collected effort by all in the Order when they had been forced to move their headquarter for the third time.

People, both in and out of the Order, were now occupying the open house, either running with a new message or just taking a breath before they were off again.

It was late at night, and Harry had just hunched down on his heels with a cup of tea at his favourite spot beside the kitchen oven, relaxing his tired muscles. Even though he lacked any formal training, Harry had been unceremoniously given a pair of auror robes and a certificate proclaiming him one. At least for the time being. The work was hard, dirty and everlasting. And he hated it.

Everything was chaos in the kitchen, and sporting a famous scar didn't grant Harry anymore space than was absolutely necessary for him. Mindful of this, Harry tried to make himself as small as possible, keeping his balance as to not be bumped by hurrying feet and scold himself on the oven.

'Hullo Harry, are you sitting on the floor again?' a recognizable voice asked, and looking up it turned out to be a quite tired looking Hermione. Harry just shrugged and tried a smile, feeling how stiff his facial muscles had become the past few days. Sighing and hunching down beside him, Hermione rubbed her face a few times in a pretense to look a bit more alert.

'It has been a long day,' she said, accepting the last bit of tea left in Harry's cup as he proffered it to her.

'It has indeed,' Harry conceded, 'and tomorrow will be just as long, if not longer.'

'Oh... yes... I would presume so.'

They sat in silence for a little while, both too tired to really strike up any sort of conversation. The days of merry chatting was over, and they both knew it. At least until the unrest had been settled and they could breathe a bit again.

'I heard they catch Rodolphus Lestrange last night,' Harry said, knowing that only one of the feared threesome remained, 'apparently he lost what little sanity he had left after Neville killed Bellatrix.'

'Hmm,' Hermione nodded contemplatively, 'I guess Rabastan will be the next one. Unless he kills himself that is.'

'I wonder where Snape is though...'

All of the most prominent Death Eaters had been seen on one or more occasions since Voldemort's fall, though they had captured only a few. They had, however, not seen either hide nor hair of Snape. It was as if he had disappeared into the ground. He knew his field all too well, Harry mused. The slimy spy knew exactly how both sides worked from the inside, so it was probably not difficult for him to stay hidden.

'Snape might be dead...,' Hermione tried weakly, but Harry could hear she was far from convinced by her own statement.

'I wouldn't count on it,' he said darkly. 'If someone knows how to survive, it's that bastard. If I ever get my hands around his throat I'll choke him so slowly that I'll be able to watch his last painful minutes before he die. And he'll know I did it to him, and he'll know I did it for Dumbeldore!'

The vehemence in Harry's voice surprised even himself, and by the shocked expression on Hermione's face he knew he'd gone too far.

'So much hate...' she sighed quietly, draining the cup of the little sugary tea that was left before standing. 'Try not to let it consume you.' Her pleading eyes made Harry want to slap her. He knew full well that something nasty had begun moving inside him, something he didn't dare touch. It had been growing inside him all since the death of Sirius. A certain vile bitterness that made him gag just by thinking about it. The need to survive had made him suppress it however, but time and again he could feel it flash through him, and the impulses he had to force down scared him.

'I'll be fine,' he mumbled at last, just to get her to leave him if nothing else. She did hesitantly, but was stopped in her tracks over the kitchenfloor by the door suddenly bursting open. This was not unusual in and off itself, but when a haggard and bloodied Colin Creevey appeared breathless in the door staring at them with wide eyes, Harry found himself standing from his spot.

'It's him,' he wheezed, effectively gaining everyone's attention, 'we got him. Snape. Just now.'

'What?' Harry half shouted, hurrying over to catch Colin before he fell to the floor. It looked like he was in really bad shape, his breath gurgling with either blood or slime and black scorch marks covering most of his body. Dragging him all the way into the kitchen and carefully placing him on the floor, Harry was soon assisted when the others overcame their initial shock.

'You got Snape?' asked Fred Weasley as he tried to establish eyecontact, 'now? How, where is he?'

'Take it easy on him,' snapped Hermione as she effectively arranged Colin in a stable position so that he could breathe easier. Harry wanted nothing more than to shake the truth out of the boy, but kept himself barely in check.

'Colin,' said Harry carefully as not to tick Hermione off, 'it is important that you elaborate a bit please?'

It was apparent that the young boy struggled to stay conscious, and the labour he had to put into actually managing to move his lips looked painful. But Colin hadn't ended up in Gryffindor without a reason.

'Ngh... We cornered him as he was about to... uhm... apparate... and...' Colin was seized by a coughing fit before he could go on, 'it was a terrible fight, but... ah.' Drifting out for a bit, Colin's eyes seemed to un focus a few seconds, 'Moody finally managed to knock him out cold... though.' And then he disappeared, head lolling limply on his shoulders.

'They must have taken him to the Ministry then,' said Fred as he got up from the floor together with Harry, 'seeing as there were official aurors present and all.'

'Yeah, lets go,' urged Harry, already heading towards the chair where his auror robe was carelessly thrown away. His hands were shaking with the suppressed emotions surging through him, he didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or to cry. They had Snape.

'Harry,' began a dangerous voice behind him, and turning around it revealed to be a fuming Hermione Granger. She was sitting by Colin still, a hand on his forehand, staring flaming daggers into Harry. 'You will not leave him like this. You are to take him to Hogwarts so that he might get some medical care.'

'Oh come off it Hermione,' said Fred in an exasperated voice as he already stood by the door, waiting for Harry to follow. 'This is important, it's Snape we're talking about! One of Voldemort's most loyal servants! Think about all the information he must have...'

Hermione's eyes seemed to glow even more dangerously, and Harry couldn't even remember having been so afraid of his good friend. Baring her teeth at Fred, he was certain she would start hissing at him, but instead she continued in a collected tone,

'Yes, I am quite aware it's Snape. But this is Colin, your friend. He need your help now. Snape can wait, he won't be going anywhere anytime soon.'

Harry felt undecided. It itched in him to go the Ministry. Somehow he felt he couldn't rest until he had seen that they had Snape there, and that there was no chance for him to escape. But as Hermione had stated, Colin was his friend, and he had come all the way still wounded just to inform Harry about what had happened. He owed the brave Gryffindor something.

'Yeah ok, we'll take him with us,' sighed Harry before draping the robes over his shoulders, 'come on Fred.'

---

They were both quiet as they apparated to Hogwarts to give Colin over to Madame Pomfrey's capable hands. Harry was clenching his teeth so hard together his jaw started to ache. It all went like a blur, his heart was beating harshly, almost to the point of pain.

Trying to focus on the task ahead, he found he couldn't. The feeling of dread and anticipation was clenching in his gut, making him realize that he was even more nervous now than he had been a few nights previously. When he had faced Voldemort.

This was, in many ways, personal on an entirely different level. Voldemort had been so easy to hate. It had been so justified. And Harry had always had an outlet for his anger, everyone had supported him. But as he had grown up and every instinct in him had screamed that he should not trust Snape, Dumbledore or some other wellmeaning person had asked him to keep that hatred under a tight leash. Then the unspeakable happened, and Harry's raging feelings had been set loose. Just to be tied up again, but this time by himself. Through all the years Snape had played him like a yo-yo. The second Harry thought he was justified in hating the man, he turned right around and played the hero, saving Harry and his friend's lives.

Harry was so confused in his feelings towards his older teacher, he didn't even know if it was hatred anymore. It had metamorphosed into something completely different, something Harry had no name on.

Sadly, the hospital wing was even more crowded now than it had been after the battle with Voldemort. But the hospital wing was not the only place in an uproar. During the last couple of days the entire school had been shut down and re-opened as a hostel. The common-rooms and dormitories were used, much like the Burrow, to accommodate targeted or split families. In the entrance hall there was a huge billboard put up with lists of missing or found people, and in the Great Hall people ate and exchanged news.

The only thing Harry found positive with it all was how the wizarding world had become reunited again. They fought together, no matter what blood or past history, to fight their common enemy. An enemy no one was guaranteed safety from, even if you could boast the most galleons in your Gringots Vault.

Having one of Colin's arms draped around each of their shoulders, Harry and Fred hurried up the marble stairs as fast as they could. Even if some part of Harry's brain was annoyed at the level of ruthlessness he showed, he just couldn't help the impatience. After all these years he was finally going to be standing face to face to Snape again. He wanted to show him how much he had grown, how strong he had become. How much wiser. Just prove to him that he was more than Snape had claimed him to be. Then Snape would know how wrong he had been, and he would be sorry. Oh so very sorry.

---

They had soon enough gotten a bed for Colin with assistance from Neville who had begun helping out in the hospital wing as he slowly regained his health. When they mentioned their errand in whispers over the young boy's still form, Harry saw Neville's eyes grow black in hatred and anger. He clenched his jaw, much like both Harry and Fred were doing, and busied himself by making sure Colin rested comfortably. After having visibly composed himself, he looked up at them, his face void of any expression.

"I hope he burns in hell," said Neville, his voice cold. Harry could feel Fred pull back just as his own heart made an uncomfortable lurch. Harry wanted to tell himself that he was now staring at an adult and grown Neville, but instead he felt certain that something had been lost on that battleground. He was not the only one with a divided conscience and confused anger.

"Are you coming with us?" asked Fred finally, as the silence had dragged out too long to be comfortable anymore.

"No I don't think so," Neville shook his head, "Madame Pomfrey has yet to discharge me, and I don't trust myself around that man..."

Both Harry and Fred nodded in understanding, but was at the same time marvelling at Neville's self restraint. None of them could find the self discipline not to travel directly to the Ministry to get a good look at Snape themselves.

Their obligatory errands had been made, and they were hurrying down the stairs again so fast their robes billowed behind them.

---

The Ministry was in it's usual chaotic state when they arrived, aurors and other personnel hurrying back and forth with their errands. Losing no time having their wands checked, Harry and Fred rushed into the elevator. In times of war the dungeon floors were made into makeshift prison cells where they could house criminals and suspects before either releasing them or put them into further custody at Azkaban.

The dungeon corridors were well lit and guards were standing in groups chatting with each other. It seemed like the uproar had just calmed down as the murmur was still quite excited. Harry couldn't help but silently curse himself for wasting time back at the Burrow while other's fought what he himself viewed as his battle. Snape had been the one to sell out _his_ parents and Snape had been the one to murder _his_ mentor.

But Snape had also been the one to help them out whenever the situation was at it's most dire. If it indeed was him, and not some other anonymous person. Right now, Harry wasn't too sure Snape had been their man at all. Though he knew deep inside that it could have been none other.

'So you have nothing better to do than stand here and gossip?' Fred snapped at a group of young aurors, all being his juniors. They promptly ceased their chattering and scattered each to their post. A middle aged man with glasses and the air of someone used to wielding his authority came walking out of one of the unlocked doors further down the corridor. Glancing at both of them, his gaze lingering just a second too long on Harry's scar, he reached out his hand and presented himself.

'My name is Mr. Martin, I've just been transferred from Azkaban. Nice to meet you both.'

Harry and Fred returned the greeting by introducing themselves and their status, receiving nothing but an indifferent nod.

'Good, good,' he said, waving at two other guards as he fished out his keys from the belt in his robe. 'I am guessing it's Snape you're here to see. He has just been put under interrogation, so this visit will be quite short. As you all know this is not in our procedure and the only reason you're given an exception is your name, Mr. Potter.'

Harry didn't like the sound of the truth, but he supposed it was much better having the cards lied openly out on the table. It was no secret he received special treatment wherever he went. First because of his scar, and now for his second defeat of Voldemort.

Mr. Martin inserted the large bronze key in the door just as the two guards he had summoned lifted the wards with their wands.

Harry wasn't certain of what he expected to see when they opened the dungeon door. The sight that greeted him was mostly darkness, with only one burning torch, illuminating the scene he'd wanted to see since Dumbledore's death. In the middle of the cell sat Snape on his knees, feet secured with manacles to the floor, hands tied behind his back, a long chain making sure he had no other options but to stay the way he was tied up. Around his head they had bound a black piece of clothing, blindfolding him. Looking closer, Harry could see the chains shimmering in silver. They would take no chances, having even bound his magic though he possessed no wand.

Snape's head had been bent, but as soon as the door opened, he had lifted it, and was now intently listening to their footsteps as they walked into the room.

Making his way around the still form so that he could see Snape from the front, Harry noticed blood and puss still oozing from a cut in his forehand, his left cheek was bruised so badly it had blackened. It looked like someone had given him a good kick in the head.

The sharp intake of breath Snape took before holding it told Harry that he was quite nervous of what was going to happen next. The "interrogation" Mr. Martin had mentioned previously was a procedure were the guards would periodically enter the cell and beat the prisoner until he broke and spilled a confession. This intensive treatment would only last for about 24 hours before the prisoner either told them what they wanted to hear, or was sent to Azkaban for longer keeping. Obviously Snape had already received his share of "interrogation" before they reached the Ministry, even if it had only taken them about half an hour.

Looking over at Fred, Harry could tell he was just as clueless on how to handle the situation as himself. Snape had been their professor, authority and ally for such a long time, it felt almost absurd to see him reduced to such a state. Fidgeting slightly, the chains rattling loudly against the stone floor, Snape changed his weight, his breath pitching rather painfully as he did so.

'Hello, Snape,' said Harry at last, watching as Snape struggled to place his voice. When he finally did, his shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched. 'I see you recognize who I am.'

Snape neither confirmed or denied this as every muscle in his body grew taunt.

'Looking at your reaction, I'd say you know you're in deep shit this time.'

The silence rested heavily down upon them again, until Snape's mouth finally began to move, his broken voice sending uneasy shivers down Harry's spine.

'Why don't you take off my blindfold, so that I might see you?'

His voice was neither cold, hateful or shrewd, it was just broken, and his words nothing but a faint memory of the manipulator he had once been. Harry almost felt the compulsion to mourn a great man lost.

'You know I can't do that,' answered Harry with as much detachment as he could muster, 'we haven't forgotten you're one of the best legilemes of this decade. If not this century.'

'Such flatter,' mumbled Snape, 'but I have no strength left for that.'

Harry considered to heed his will, as he really couldn't believe the man beaten and chained to the floor could pose any threat to five armed wizards, but remembered at the last second who he was conversing with. One couldn't believe a word coming out of a Slytherin's mouth. This depression and this brokedness could all just be an act.

Settling down on his heels in front of Snape, Harry took a hand to the man's bruised face. Startled, Snape pulled back, but Harry caught his chin and held his head forcefully in place. The only thing that could indicate the pain this caused was a slight quivering of Snape's upper lip. Quenching the need to tighten his grip even further, Harry could feel himself shake slightly with the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

'Tell me, why did you kill Dumbledore?' hissed Harry, the acidic hatred dripping from his voice, 'was it some sort of revenge you felt you needed? A spur of the moment thing? Your master set you up to it? Tell me!'

Snape was silent, his lips pinched together as he breathed forcefully through his nose. It seemed like it took a lot of effort to pull himself together so that he wouldn't say something he would regret later.

'Believe what you want,' he eventually whispered, and Harry could feel the burning glare of Snape's black eyes even through the blindfold.

'I don't want to believe anything!' bristled Harry, rushing to his feet to stand over Snape with fisted hands, 'I want to KNOW, damn you!"

Snape just turned his face away, clearly signalling that he would tell them nothing. Losing the little restraint he had left, Harry forcefully let his fist meet with Snape's temple, sending him to the floor with a loud thud. The sickening crack his head made as it collided with the tiles testified that he had probably got yet another fracture to his skull. They all just stared in shock as the man lied completely still on the floor, not a muscle moving, dark blood beginning to pool around his head.

'I think you struck him out cold,' said Fred silently as one of the guards bent down to check Snape's pulse, 'or at least that's what I hope you did.'


	3. The questions with no answers

**The questions with no answers**

Sometimes, no matter how cosy, the Burrow just wasn't the best place to be. Especially not if all you needed was some peace and quiet to think things through. Sitting outside by the hedges in the darkness, Harry went through his recent encounter with Snape. It had ended rather catastrophic.

After having lost his control and sent Snape crashing to the stone tiles, he had been hurriedly escorted out again by Mr. Martin. The fracture Snape had received would only result in a concussion and had been healed fast. But taken into consideration that his head had already been knocked around quite a bit as it was, he would probably feel very ill the next few days.

Harry cursed the fact that Snape was still able to lure forth the worst in him. Even with his hands chained behind his back, blindfolded and bruised, Snape managed to prove to the world that Harry was nothing but an ill tempered teenager.

There had just been something in Snape's quiet defeat that had made Harry rage in anger.

Most worrisome was of course the delay of information they now would receive because of his lack of control. Harry had a feeling Snape wouldn't be spilling his guts any time soon, especially not after he recovered and regained his usual strength.

Harry's initial reaction at the sight of Snape after all these years had been different than what he had expected. It was true that he had once again lost his composure to anger, but where had the distinct feeling of something being so utterly _wrong_ come from? Watching Snape in such a vulnerable position had made it impossible to compare him with the man who had murdered Dumbledore in cold blood. Harry wondered what Snape had been doing during the years he had been underground and hiding. Where had he been? What had he seen?

Stretching out his legs and taking a deep breath of the hot summer night, Harry's nerves were finally beginning to calm down. The lights shone from the windows, and he could see the silhouettes of people engaged in their own business. The sky was partly clouded, but Harry could still see a few stars shimmering in the east.

The world was too calm, and the sky too normal for it to be waging a lethal battle underneath it. Harry felt certain that for each second he was sitting there and whiling away the time, several people were experiencing bereavement. A headache was just beginning to make itself noticed behind his left eye, and he rubbed at it tiredly. He needed a long night's sleep, but he doubted he would find any rest.

Just as he was about to rise and try to sneak unnoticed back into the house, the kitchen door opened and two people emerged. Shrinking back into the shadows of the hedge, Harry sat completely still, hoping for them not to notice him. As they closed in, Harry recognized them to be Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley. This took him by surprise, as he hadn't been aware of Remus' release from the Hospital Wing.

'Are you sure about this?' Harry could hear Remus ask in surprise, his raspy voice pitched low.

'Well, I can only tell you what Fred told me, of course,' answered Mr. Weasley, 'but it won't be difficult for me to find someone else's point of view of the happenings, if you want that.'

'No, that is ok. I believe you,' reassured Remus, tapping his chin contemplatively, 'well, I can hardly blame him for such a reaction but…'

'Yes, I know what you're thinking… This has all been too much for him.'

'Indeed it has.'

The two men stood in silence for a bit, Mr. Weasley looking up at the stars and Remus gazing back at the house. Harry was pretty sure he knew who they were discussing. It wasn't as if anything Harry ever did went by unnoticed, and a happening such as this was certainly worth a discussion by them all. Rising an eyebrow in disgust, Harry wondered if he should rise and show them that he had heard their conversation, if not for anything else but to make them uncomfortable. But he decided against it, he wanted to hear the rest of what they had to say about him first.

'Will you talk to him?' asked Mr. Weasley after a while, letting his hand glide through the few strands of flaming red hair he had left.

Remus nodded and kicked the ground with his foot, 'yeah… Yeah I'll talk to him. I'm not really certain how much that will help though.'

'No… well… I'm all up for ideas I'm afraid' said Mr. Weasley with an air of defeat, resting a hand on Remus' shoulder, 'it was always our responsibility to see to it that he grew up well after Lily and James died, but… I don't know if we succeeded.'

Harry could feel the now slumbering anger inside him twitch slightly, as if readying itself to awaken. The anger was about to boil, but Harry did all he could to repress it. Biting down on his lip, the tears stinging behind his eyes and the headache intensified. They were disappointed in him. After all the hard work he'd gone through, he still hadn't been able to prove to them that he was worthy to be James' and Lily's son. Was he a disgrace? Was Dumbledore turning in his grave?

No, he had done all they had asked him. He had given up on a normal life so that he could be The Boy Who Lived.

Still it hurt to hear Mr. Weasley utter those words.

'That's ok Arthur,' said Remus patting his hand, 'I'll just take a bit more of fresh air and then I'll join you inside.'

Nodding in understanding, Mr. Weasley turned and walked back into the kitchen. Harry could see his silhouette through the window, his long shadow falling out onto the lawn.

'I know you're there Harry,' said Remus suddenly, also watching Mr. Weasley's shadow move across the grass.

'Do you now,' answered Harry quietly, not bothering to rise from his spot. Remus turned and looked at him, the stars being enough light for him to see quite well in the late evening.

'Are you going to tell me what happened at the Ministry?' asked Remus, not bothering with Harry's melancholic mood.

'No.'

Sighing heavily Remus made his way over to the hedge and sat down in the grass beside him. Even in the dusky darkness Harry could see his face twist in pain as his muscles fought against the uncaring movements.

'How are you?' asked Harry despite himself, remembering that his friend had been out cold in a hospital bed just a few days previously.

'I'm doing much better, thank you.'

They both knew it was the standard curtsey answer to the standard curtsey question. Neither of them wished to either tell or hear the truth. It was better to pretend that everything was as it should be, and that being a lycanthrope didn't mean his body would age long before it's time.

'You saw him,' began Remus before taking a few more breaths, 'could you tell me, how was he?'

Harry stared at Remus through the darkness, his now shimmering grey hair making for an odd contrast against the dark shadows of the hedge. Snape had, if possible, caused even more pain to Remus than even to Harry himself.

'He was bound, and they had begun their interrogation of him,' answered Harry hesitantly, it was no secret to anyone what an interrogation meant.

'How did he take that?'

Harry was quiet for a while. He hadn't considered Snape's state of condition except his quietness and defeat. Something Harry had contributed more to the fact that he had been held prisoner than the abuse in itself.

'I don't know, he was very quiet. He didn't speak more than a few words.'

'What did he say?'

Again Harry had to think for a while before answering. He felt uncomfortable with all these questions. Mostly he just wanted to forget the whole thing, especially his loss of control. Again.

'I can't really remember' answered Harry after some time, 'nothing important. I asked him why he killed Dumbledore, but he didn't want to answer.'

'So you struck him?'

'… yes.'

'I see.'

Something in Harry bristled at this response. Clenching his teeth together he got up from the grass and stood with his back turned to Remus.

'No you don't!' Harry whispered dangerously, 'you don't bloody _see_. He was… It was… you just don't understand, ok?'

Turning his head, Harry could see Remus looking up at him as if he'd expected this outburst. The recognizable anger was waking even further from it's slumber. Harry didn't want to see it get out on a rampage again tonight. He was too tired for that.

'Whatever,' said Harry, shaking his head, 'I'll be inside.'

'Harry…?' Remus called after him, his raspy voice barely reaching through the darkness. But Harry ignored him.

---

The sun was shining again, and Harry detested it. It seemed so misplaced and mocking, the blue sky and the careless clouds drifting mindlessly about.

Over a week had passed since Snape had been captured, and still he hadn't spoken a single word. It was said that the only time he'd opened his mouth was when he had talked to Harry that same night. Any interrogation or questioning had resulted in nothing, and the day of his trial was closing in. The Order was at a loss of what to do, all certain Snape had the knowledge they needed to be able to conquer the last remaining Death Eaters.

Snape could, however, be sent to trial before they managed to twist the truth out of him. One of three things could happen then, none being to their favour. He could, against all reason, be deemed innocent and set free. They could sentence him to a lifetime in Azkaban, where he would lose his mind. Or, he could be granted the kiss.

If either of these things happened, their one source to information could be gone for good.

They were losing time.

'Stop staring at me as if I'm the only one able to solve puzzles,' muttered Hermione as she sat by the kitchen table at the Burrow, leafing through one of her trustworthy books.

'But Hermione, you're the one who always finds a solution to things like this,' argued Ron, trying to read over her shoulder, 'I don't even understand what this book is _about_.'

Hermione sighed and rubbed at her temples before blinking a few times. They were all running on no sleep and chronic headaches it seemed. Harry looked around himself and could see nothing but bloodshot and weary eyes. Bill was even dozing off while leaning against the kitchen bench with his arms crossed over his chest.

'The book is called: "_Magical Laws for a Magical Society: A Wizard's Guide to British Law_"' explained Hermione, as she was bound to do, 'it's a book containing all laws and loopholes ever made in wizarding Britain. The brilliant thing about this book is that it automatically updates as soon as any changes has been made."

'Ah,' they all uttered in perfect unison, glad it was Hermione who would be reading through it and not them.

'But I just don't see how this will help us,' she sighed, 'trial is actually a wizards _right_, and it will take a lot to convince them that it's not necessary. And even if we do, that will only mean Azkaban or the kiss.'

Hermione closed the book with a thud and shoved it away from herself across the table. Crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, she got a far away look on her face. Harry recognized it as the expression she always wore when she tried to find a logical answer to a seemingly unsolvable problem.

'Whom of you have authority to access Snape right now?' asked Remus, staring at the young aurors scattered around the kitchen. Harry wondered if he might be able to use his name again, even though he detested the idea. He just wasn't so certain Mr. Martin would be so favourable towards him the next time, considering what had happened last he had been let into Snape's cell.

'Well, I guess I and Shacklebolt do,' answered Tonks, looking rather different keeping her hair black to mourn the ones lost in battle, 'oh no… I mean, _I_ do… or I _did_…'

An uncomfortable silence spread out between them and some exchanged knowing glances. Shacklebolt had been missing a good few months and no one expected him to ever return to them. Tonks had barely survived the ambush that had lead to his abduction, but not without severe injuries. The Death Eaters had left her for dead. She had been suspended from her auror duties.

'I suggest we just all go each to ours and try to find an answer to this problem,' said Mrs. Weasley quietly, waking them all up from their reveries, 'I don't think we'll be able to come to any agreements just now.'

They all nodded, hurrying to attend their own, separated, lives. The Order had, after Dumbledore's death, begun to split apart. Not obviously so for an outsider perhaps, but some animosity was to be found between the members. As the war went on and wore them all out, many nerves had snapped and arguments had ensued.

Harry remained in the kitchen with his trusted cup of tea watching the others leave. He was not surprised when he found that he, Hermione and Ron was the only ones left in the quietness of the early afternoon. It felt both good and familiar this way, even though they were both a bit annoyed with him. Again.

'You could have waited for me to join you at the Ministry,' said Ron, not being the one to beat around the bush.

Harry nodded mutely staring at his golden tea laced with sugar and milk. He could have, but he hadn't.

'How was he really?' asked Hermione in her turn, she was still leaning back in her chair, looking interested despite herself. Harry had forgotten how much Snape meant in their lives. He seemed to forget a whole lot concerning other people lately, most of all how Snape had managed to manipulate the all of them.

So Harry decided to give them his side of the story.

'Huh,' muttered Ron, having sat down on a chair across from Hermione, tapping the tabletop with his fingers. His red hair and freckles seeming even more burning as they contrasted his pallid complexion.

'So now it's up to us to try and figure out how to keep him from trial,' pondered Hermione out loud, 'you know, that seems to be the easiest part here. The difficult part will be after we have gotten him. I don't think even Veritaserum is going to make him tell his story.'

'Yeah, and beating it out of him doesn't seem to help either.'

'Ron!' exclaimed Hermione aghast, and Harry had to hide his grin. It was almost as if everything was back as it used to be. Not quite, but close enough for comfort.

'Don't you guys ever change, ok,' smiled Harry at them, making them both stop their inevitable argument and shake their heads.

Work was then put aside in the favour of catching up with each other. They might have fought side by side every day the last years, but it was appalling to see how much they had grown. Harry was happy to find that they had not, as he previously thought, grown apart, as much as developed.

Hermione was struggling with her studies and Ron was slowly climbing up the career ladder as an auror. It made Harry quite nostalgic to remember back to their first years at Hogwarts, and he found he missed it so immensely it was as if he'd gotten a physical void inside his body. Things had been dangerous and thrilling then too, but there had been a sort of safety net to catch them if they stumbled. Then Sirius had fallen through the veil, and everything had changed.

---

Having travelled down to the Ministry one more time, Harry was wondering why he had even bothered to make the trip. He was now standing, completely breathless, face to face with Mr. Martin who just wouldn't budge. They had been screaming, or Harry had been screaming, at each other for more than fifteen minutes.

This far Harry had been the only one to even make Snape open his mouth, and if they couldn't get him to talk soon they had lost their one source to information. It was up to Harry to make Mr. Martin understand this, but he was apparently not doing a very good job at it as spittle was now flying from the older wizard's mouth, spattering Harry's face.

'I don't care if you're the bloody Queen,' growled Mr. Martin, 'Snape is a captive of the Ministry, and he's kept under strict interrogation. You may not remove him, and you may not speak with him. You do not hold the authority.'

'But don't you understand?' sighed Harry exasperated, 'we need to get him to talk before he is set to trial! He _knows_ who the leader of the remaining Death Eaters are!'

'That is entirely beside the point! He is a captive on the same ground as anyone else, and he is going to trial to either prove his guilt or his innocence!'

'Innocence? You must be bloody kidding me! THIS MAN KILLED DUMBLEDORE!'

'You have no proof of that,' said Mr. Martin, gazing at Harry with a look that plainly told him what he thought of the younger auror.

'Why are you protecting him like this?' asked Harry tiredly, letting his hand travel through his black curls, 'do you know him? Has he done you any favours? What?'

'A man doesn't need to do me any favours for me to protect his right to life,' answered Mr. Martin, making Harry's eyes grow round.

'Snape doesn't care about anyone else's life,' explained Harry carefully, 'why should we care about his?'

'Because we're not murderers.'

---

But he was. Harry _was_ a murderer. He had taken lives before. Both directly and indirectly. Was he the same as Snape? Was he a monster who didn't care about the value of life and being alive?

Resting for a bit on one of the benches located on the same floor as the auror's headquarters, Harry felt fatigued. It didn't seem like it would end, no matter how hard he fought. There was always something there to stop him from leading the life he wanted to.

A chill went up Harry's spine. Furrowing his brow he leant forward and rested his head in his hands. What did he want? No matter how hard he tried to find an answer to that unexpected question, his mind was blank.

He had done what he was meant to do, what was left now?

He had no career plans, no girlfriend, no studies to take up. He hadn't even graduated from Hogwarts. This meant in all reality that he didn't have any qualifications at all, The Boy Who Lived or not. Harry could just faintly remember a dream of becoming an auror once long ago, but those desires had been deeply buried through the years.

The sound of feet hurrying down the corridor alerted Harry that someone was closing in. Rubbing his face and adjusting his glasses, Harry tried to look like the heroic young man he was supposed to be. At closer inspection, the owners of the feet revealed to be none other than Percy, Ron, Mr. Weasley and the twins. Them all working for the Ministry either as aurors or in a different office. They stopped in front of him and their expressions told Harry that they were about to break something to him that he probably would not like. They were all skittish and apprehensive, keeping their silence so that someone else had to breach the subject. This time it was Percy who lost the battle.

'Harry,' he said in a frank tone, straightening his back as if to embrace himself, 'we have found a solution, but I don't know how much you will like it.'

Harry had already grown impatient with their ridiculous attitude, and didn't really find a reason not to act as they expected him to.

'Well then,' he barked, 'spit it out!'

Percy hesitated just for a second before plunging in.

'We have to make Snape your slave.'


	4. The Answer

**Author's Note: **I'm terribly sorry that this chapter took a while before it got updated. Unfortunately I managed to spill tea all over my laptop, effectively losing all my notes... Hopefully I will regain it sometime during this week or the next, but I'm not sure.

**  
The Answer**

The breath hitched in Harry's throat and his mouth was left half open as he stared at the five redheads. His initial reaction was to laugh, long and hard at it all, they could hardly be serious? Slave? That was not even legal; it was against the international human rights! Why on earth would they be making such sick jokes at this hour? After all they had been through?

The only sound that managed to get through Harry's clogged throat was a feeble 'what?' however.

'Your slave Harry. We will make Snape your slave.' repeated Percy patiently, using his index finger to push his hornrimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

'What?' Harry spluttered once more, 'you must explain.'

'I would indeed have liked to do such a thing, but I hardly think it's the appropriate thing to do _here_."

Aurors hurried down the corridor, their arms full of papers or on their way to gather their own share. No, they would probably not get enough peace to discuss whatever there was to discuss. Neither would it be too wise to talk about Order business in a crowded corridor reasoned Harry.

'Fine,' he mumbled at last, still thrown off by their absurd suggestions, 'lets get back to the Burrow then, so you can explain to me what all this is about.'

It was quite disconcerting for Harry to see all the Weasley's faces, even the twin's, so serious and grim. The little voice inside Harry telling him this was just some strange kind of joke quieted and died away quite thoroughly. As they began walking towards the upper floors with Percy in the lead, Ron fell into steps beside Harry. His blue eyes had a strange kind of gleam to them, a certain apprehension. Ron knew very well how much Harry hated to be made the sacrificial goat, and that even after having been put in the front to execute a dark lord he was still being used. But Harry had grown a protective shield against it now. It just seemed like people got the strangest habits and relying on him to save the world was one of them. Had they once put such a burden on his shoulders they would most probably continue to do so until he broke down. Then they would scorn him.

Ron raised a hand and patted him friendly on the shoulder before giving one of his warm smiles. It was good comfort and Harry returned the gesture. This seemed to ease Ron's mind and heart at least a bit.

The twins suddenly received an urgent calling from their Auror division and they had to return to their offices to rapport at once, forcing Harry, Ron, Percy and Mr. Weasley to continue to the Burrow alone. When they reached their goal it was no surprise to find it occupied by everyone but those who actually lived in and owned the house. The visitors knew when it was time to leave however, and no sooner had Mr. Weasley begun to make a pot of tea had they all vacated the kitchen.

Hermione came shortly after, walking in together with Ginny and Remus. Moody had already found himself his favourite spot at the table and Professor McGonagall was on her way from Hogwarts together with Charlie.

A strong feeling of apprehension was building inside of Harry, the very same feeling he had seen in Ron just moments before. Almost the entire Order was being called in, something which was quite rare lately. Whatever had Percy meant with "slave"? Harry couldn't fathom that he had actually meant the word in its literal sense. But then again, when would the Wizarding World ever stop surprising him?

Opting against taking a seat by the table, Harry busied himself with finding cups and spoons for the tea. He didn't like to be seated when hard blows were being dealt to him, it reminded him too much of Dumbledore's office.

Hermione had already heard whispers from Ron about the nature of the meeting and stood by the door with a heavy scowl on her face. Harry knew that whatever this was, Hermione was going to oppose to it with all her might. Not that it had ever helped. No matter the objections, the engagement and the struggles, the Order's decisions were always absolute.

It was apparent that the rest of the Order was pretty much clueless about Percy's new plans as he began opening his books and papers all over the kitchen table. Remus leant over in his chair to take a peek at the text lying next to him, his face darkening just like Hermione's as he looked up at Percy. The young Weasley had pursed his lips, the neatly combed hair beginning to fall down over his pale brow. He seemed very anxious, but also quite resolute in his answers to their problems.

McGonagall and Charlie arrived just in time for the tea to be served and the commotion eventually died down. They had all turned to Percy now with intense interest and curiosity.

Letting the tips of his fingers rest against the table, Percy cleared his throat and began his explanations.

'We have called you all here tonight because I think I have found an answer to our problem concerning Snape's imprisonment.' Here he stopped to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, folding his pale hands in front of himself. He seemed nervous. 'I know many of you,' his gaze lingered on Hermione, 'will strongly oppose to this, as it does indeed violate some basic ethics. But the case is that this can be done, and it will without doubt be the most efficient way. We must remember that Snape has made his choice; he chose to desert us and fight for the Dark Lord instead. He betrayed _us_, and now he has something we need: information. I know how to get this information, and I am sure many of you are able to guess my plan.'

Moody had been scanning all the papers during the speech with his mad-eye, and was now smiling his rather mutated grin. He seemed to consent to the idea with all his heart as his healthy eye glittered in merriment.

'I'm afraid my imagination isn't strong enough,' said McGonagall as Percy kept prolonging the silence, 'what is this plan of yours?'

'Well,' Percy let a long finger trace the headlining text in one of his books, 'how can we legally claim Snape out of the hands of the Ministry and regain complete control of his life?'

'I told you, I don't know,' huffed McGonagall, pursing her lips and narrowing her catlike eyes behind her own glasses.

'As I've already told Harry and my family, we can make him a slave.'

A silence fell down upon the kitchen until Hermione broke it vehemently from her position by the door.

'This is absurd! To think this is even being considered! We cannot, for any reason, take the freedom away from another person!"

Percy's eyes grew round for a second and a flush crept to his face. 'Think about it Hermione,' he said in a forced voice, 'if we don't do this his freedom will never the less be taken away from him. He will be put in prison for the rest of his life. His mind, maybe his soul, will be taken from him. This way at least we might be able to save some lives. He owes us this much after what he has done."

'We have no _right_,' hissed Hermione through clenched teeth, tears springing to her eyes. Her heart was too soft for wars like this mused Harry. It kept on breaking for each life that was unjustly handled. Looking around the kitchen and at the other faces, Harry found them all to be carved in stone. They seemed unyielding except from Hermione's grief stricken expression and Moody's gleeful celebration. It was impossible to know what they thought about this, all Harry knew was that no one was opposing the idea. Could this really be done?

'And who will be his Master?' asked Remus eventually, his arms folded protectively across his chest, his hazel eyes hard.

'Naturally, that is to be Harry,' Percy inclined his head in Harry's direction and all of the Order's attention went to him. 'Harry has a life dept yet to be repaid, not even the Ministry can oppose that ancient magic.'

This was something Harry had completely forgotten; he had always believed the dept had been accounted for ages ago. But how did one pay back a life dept? Who decided when it was even?

'What do you think about all this Harry?' asked Remus, 'is this something you want to go through with?'

Harry stared at Percy with his green eyes, black curls falling around his face in a predictable chaos. He felt lost, as he often did whenever such decisions was up to him to make.

'I don't even know what this is all about,' he finally answered, lifting his hands in a surrendering gesture, 'I thought slavery was illegal?'

'In the muggle world it is, yes,' answered Percy helpfully, 'but it is still practiced here in the Wizarding World to some degree, even though it has become a quite rare thing.'

'So what you are saying to me is that here in the Wizarding World another human has the right to own another human?'

'Basically... yes.'

Harry was speechless. How could he go through with such a thing, even if it was Snape?

Snape.

The man who had indirectly killed his parents, the man who had quite willingly killed Dumbledore. A man who had served Voldemort. Snape had already sold his heart and his soul.

The recognizable feeling of cold anger and hatred so hard it felt like steel inside him returned to Harry. How could he _not_ cheer for such a chance at revenge? Granted, he didn't know all there was to know about this subject, and with the Wizarding World nothing was ever as easy as it first seemed.

'Will you go through with this or not?' asked Moody, hardly able to contain his excitement.

Harry bowed his head and put a finger to his lips in a pondering position. His skin was so pale it almost shimmered blue in his exhaustion and continuous worry. They all looked exhausted, but somehow it seemed more ghastly on Harry, contrasting with the dark locks carefully nestling in the nape of his neck.

Moody's question swirled around in his mind. He felt something for Snape, but he couldn't in all honesty call it hate. It was something above and beyond that, something even more passionate, but he had no name for it. He wanted to see the man suffer, see him beg Harry for forgiveness and mercy, but what Harry wanted the most was to finally pardon him for it.

As this realization struck him, Harry could feel his heart cramp together painfully and he was certain he was going to faint right where he stood. Such an idea! How could he ever forgive? No. Forcefully Harry pushed the newborn thought away, concealed it inside himself and hid it deeply.

Finally he lifted his head, staring with vacant and faded green eyes upon the others in the room. Remus firmly kept his gaze off him and he seemed almost disgusted. Ginny beside him had huge and round eyes, unable to believe it all. Moody tapped the table with his fingers impatiently; he couldn't believe his luck in catching this long sought after Death Eater. Mr. Weasley seemed almost fragile, feeling guilt for doing this to another person. Percy was still nervous, but at the same time even more resolute. McGonagall was completely unreadable, her lips pursed and eyes stony hard, she hated the idea but she knew it had to be done. Charlie wore the same expression as Ron, uncertainty and curiosity. But Hermione made Harry stop, it seemed like she hardly could contain the fury inside her. The fact that he was even pondering the suggestion disgusted her, her brown eyes rimmed red from the unshed tears.

'If there is no other way,' Harry spoke up at last, 'I'll do it.'

---

Harry was achingly aware of how little he really knew of what he had just given his assents to do. He sat on his bed in the little room that he shared with the twins and Ron up in the top floor at the Burrow, looking through a book Remus had given him. It was a book on slavery, of course.

A new day had barely dawned since the Order meeting the previous evening and everything was still being discussed. They had all agreed that this was the best, indeed the _only, _way they could gain the information that they so desperately needed. Of course, there would always be a few souls that had difficulties in dealing with their conscience. Hermione had at once threatened that she would leave the Order if they did not change their minds. They had not, so she had dried her tears, raised her head, thanked them for their time together and walked straight out of the Burrow. They all knew they had lost a keyplayer, and some, like Ginny, wasn't entirely sure that trading the information Snape might give them for their loyal fellow Hermione was the right thing to do. But the elders in the Order had soon consoled them all, Hermione was a bright girl they had said, she knew that this was the best answer to their struggles. She would come back.

Harry knew she wouldn't. But neither would she leave them entirely to their own devices as she cared too much about them for that.

The book Harry was pouring through was heavy and difficult to digest. It contained all the history of the slave trade, new laws and all possible views on the ethics. Mostly Harry just tried to understand the laws and the restrictions. It slowly dawned on him how much power he now would be able to wield over another life. But of course, with the power came immense responsibility.

Apparently slavery was an old tradition. It was quite rare that new slaves were bound in this day and age and the slaves that still remained belonged to the very richest of the rich in the aristocrat world. A slavebond would be passed from parent to child down through the generations until the slave ancestry was as old and renowned as the family they served. Looking at the dates Harry realized that the last time someone had been enslaved had been in 1840 when a new popularity for owning slaves had risen again. Then it had been like a plague rushing through the upper class in the Wizarding society and everyone had wanted his or her personal little assistant. Because of this the Ministry had made new laws and restrictions. They weren't terribly humanistic, and Harry couldn't fathom that they hadn't made it illegal ages ago. But of course, it was the aristocrats who stood behind it, and they had always been able to manipulate the Ministry to their own advantage.

Some examples on the new guidelines that had been set for the slave masters were things like:

"_A Master may never take a slave's life either with conscious effort or by excessive corporal punishment._

_A Master may punish his/her slave as he/she sees fit as long as this does not endanger the slave's life. _

_A Master may only let his/her slave work six days a week, upon the seventh day the slave is entitled to rest._"

These were just some of the rules that had been considered as quite liberal according to the times. Many had even found them to be _too_ liberal, and political arguments had ensured. Harry wondered who would report it if a Master did not act according to the rules? He felt certain no one would take the slave's complaints all that seriously.

The next section contained page up and page down with restrictions and rights that concerned the slave directly. Skimming through the list only a few paragraphs stood out to Harry:

"_A slave who commits a crime against the Law may not be punished by his/her Master, but has the right to trial. In such a circumstance the Master will have the right to choose the slave's spokesperson. _

_A slave must obey any order given to him/her by his/her Master. This accounts for indirect orders as well. _

_A slave must never remove him/herself more than 1000 meters away from his/her Master unless the Master gives explicit permission to do so._"

Even though all these rules made Harry reel, there were two paragraphs that made him break out in outright sweat:

"_The Master will be able to hold complete control over the slave's body, soul and magic."_

And:

_"Once the slave is bound by the manacles of slavery, he/she may never regain his/her freedom."_

This was serious business.

The apprehension that had plagued him the night before returned to him. How could Harry ever be a master to a man as strong as Snape? Raising his head and letting his hand stroke the curls away from his forehead, Harry felt the warmth of the sun through the window. Closing his eyes he could see little particles of light dance over his blue hued eyelids, black eyelashes contrasting against the white skin. Breathing out carefully, Harry tried to summon a calm and serenity that he hadn't felt in years. It didn't come to him. The blood kept rushing painfully through his veins, making his heart beat heavily and without consistency.

A knock was heard on the door, and as Harry opened his eyes he saw Remus carefully making his way through the room between the beds. Sighing inwardly Harry made himself ready for yet another discussion with the patient werewolf.

'So, you're absolutely certain about all this?' asked Remus as he sat down on the bed opposite Harry's. Harry just nodded. Remus knew he was certain, why even ask? 'You look tired.'

'I am.'

He was, Harry was just too tired. It felt like the bones inside his body were crumbling apart and that his muscles faded away. Harry was certain that if he ever really fell asleep, because he didn't consider the tossing and the turning through the night as sleep, he would never wake again.

Remus raised a warm hand and rested it comfortingly against Harry's cheek, his eyes were such a beautiful brown, glowing warmly in the young sunlight. A deep sadness had never the less been ingrained in the weary features of Remus face, and even if he smiled there was no hiding the crushed heart inside him. Ruins.

Letting the hand fall, Remus took Harry's thin ones into his own and held them tightly.

'You'll tell him?'

'Who?'

'Snape.'

Harry bowed his head in consent. Of course he would tell Snape, who else were there? Who else but him would enjoy seeing the expression on the fallen man's face as he realized his life was being taken from him?

'Remember he is human too, Harry.'

'No he's not.'

'Show mercy, for your own sake.'

'I'll show him as much mercy as he showed me.'

---

The fact that Snape was still being held in custody at the Ministry was quite unusual. His period of interrogation should have ended after twenty four hours, but over a week had passed since his imprisonment. It spoke volumes about the desperation the Ministry now felt in having to obtain at least _some_ information from their captive.

Percy with his knack for talking had gone together with Moody, Mr. Weasley, Charlie and Bill to Scrimgeour's office. They hoped to successfully present their case and that he would agree to it. Of course, the Minister didn't hold the complete authority to allow this plan to be put into action, but having him on their team would greatly advance their position.

Harry on the other hand, had continued downwards in the elevator until he was at the bottom floors. He just hoped Mr. Martin was in a better mood today.

Actually, Harry had reason to believe he was not there at all today. Harry believed he was helping escorting a new group of Death Eaters to Azkaban. Harry didn't think he would have any problems in charming his way into Snape's cell if Mr. Martin had put a young Auror to assist while he was gone.

It had been no surprise to Harry when he found that all his assumptions had been correct. Of course, the twins had been behind it all. They had told him the day ahead that everything had been orchestrated for him, and that the assistant happened to be a huge fan of the Boy Who Lived. Without much struggle at all, Harry soon found himself facing the prison door as the fumbling young auror unlocked the door and two others lifted the wards.

'I'd like to be alone, thank you,' said Harry in a clipped tone as the door opened to him and he stepped into the darkness.

Snape was still bound as before, but his straight and tentative pose was gone. He sat bowed as far down towards the floor as the chains would let him, his matted hair almost touching the stone tiles.

'Having fun?' asked Harry, moving towards the illuminated circle in the middle of the room. Snape didn't react at once. Slowly he collected himself, straining the muscles in his legs and back to be able to rise in a half alerted position. 'Why don't you tell them? Why do you go through all this when you could just quit this hell? It doesn't strike me as very Slytherin behaviour.'

Snape's skin was if possible even paler than Harry's, contrasted rudely by the blackening bruises. It seemed like they were being allowed to heal however, now that the aurors in charge of the interrogation no longer aimed at his head. The ink black hair was tousled and covered half his face, a few strands still caught up in the dried blood on his cheek. He almost seemed fragile there he sat staring blindly in the direction of Harry, the blindfold still in place. Snape had most probably not seen light in the entire time he had been prisoner. Harry got an alien feeling of desperately wanting to touch Snape's face, to stroke his cold skin.

Walking up to him, Harry bowed down and untied the bloody piece of cloth. Carefully Snape blinked a few times, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried to get used to the muted light of the torch. After a few moments he was able to keep his eyes open, and he stared up at Harry standing over him. His eyes were as black as coal, slightly widened in silent wonder and horror. It had not escaped Snape's notice that Harry was the only one in the room. Harry didn't doubt that the chained man knew that the Ministry was growing desperate. They could be forced to do anything. Snape was too tired and too bruised to be able to effectively hide his fright and apprehension, his lips slightly parted and his eyes locked on Harry.

'What do you think I'll do to you now?' asked Harry without expecting an answer. Just as well, as he did not receive one. 'I don't think you're able to guess, but maybe you can read it from my mind?' A cruel smile crept across Harry's face, and he bowed down again, letting his hands rest on his knees. 'What do you say to be wearing my family crest on your wrists?"

Snape understood the implication at once, knowing very well how masters marked their slaves. The muted horror grew on his face, and he slowly shook his head from one side to the other, not taking his gaze off Harry.

'Tell me what you know and you won't be forced into this you know.'

A quiet desperation replaced his look of horror, and Snape's lips began to move carefully, cracking because of their dryness.

'You can't do this,' he whispered hoarsely, 'they can't allow it.'

A chill laughter rose from Harry, creating a misplaced echo between the damp stonewalls.

'It wasn't even my idea,' murmured Harry, rising himself tall again, 'they all agreed that this would be the best course of action, unless you tell me everything now, of course.'

Snape shook his head again, closing his eyes tightly.

'It's all up to you you know!' hissed Harry, and looked at the bloody cloth he still held in his hand. How many times hadn't he dreamed to possess such a power over the professor he thought he hated? Gingerly Harry took a few steps backwards on his shaking legs, not taking his gaze off the blindfold in his hand. The texture had become stiff and raw because of the dried blood and sweat. Sighing heavily and combing the other hand through his curls, he eventually let his eyes fall back upon Snape. How could the torchlight manage to make his skin so illuminated? The dark circles underneath Snape's eyes practically shone in a faded blue, so fragile and beautiful, almost like painted rice paper.

'Why can't you tell me? What have you left to lose? They won't save you, _Ill _save you!'

Snape stared at him, swaying slightly now that he had taxed his remaining strengths to the limit.

'There is nothing to tell,' he said, black eyes half closing as he tipped forwards before hastily pulling himself together.

Stepping forward, Harry roughly bound the blindfold back around Snape's head.

'Enjoy your darkness.'


	5. The slaverbond

**The slaverbond**

When Harry closed the heavy door behind him and stood leaning against it he could feel his entire body shiver. Snape made him loose control each and every time. How could the Order give Harry so much control over a man he only wished to destroy? It made no sense to Harry, and it scared him on some deep, unconscious level. He'd be able to master Snape's magic for Merlin's sake, every order Harry was to give, Snape had to obey!

Harry wondered whether Snape had really believed his implications about the slaverbond. He had looked suitably horrified, but it seemed he still kept some faith in the Order, or at the very least a tiny bit of hope. Perhaps Snape even believed that the Order would get him out of his tough spot.

But not this time. This time the Order had every intention of laying Snape's entire life in the hands of his once youthful student who withered in grudges. Oh, there was justice after all!

Grinning sedately to himself, Harry pulled away from the door, making sure that his legs would be able to support him sufficiently this time.

Harry had no clue how the Weasley's meeting with Scrimgour was going. Percy had seemed quite confident that his plan would work and that the Ministry would have no choice but to hand Snape over to them. He had explained to Harry that the magic of owning someone their life was extremely strong and would in some cases even override the Law. Like in this case, Percy had explained, where Harry could stand forward and claim back what his father had given Snape: his very life.

Percy had also said that the Ministry was very interested in the information Snape possessed, and would agree on the basis of that alone.

Indeed, the future looked bleak for Snape.

The young aurors who had granted Harry access into Snape's prison cell sat by a small table further down the corridor. They pretended to be engrossed in their game of wizarding chess, but Harry could see them turning around and give him quick, curious glances now and then. They probably wondered why he looked so rattled. Straightening up completely, Harry wiped his hands off on the legs of his pants and walked towards the elevator. He was planning to find Scrimgeour's office so that he might find out how the meeting went. Harry had quite the belief in Percy and his inside information on how the Ministry worked.

The light blinked above the elevator, and Harry was just about to step inside as the doors opened when he got startled by finding Mr. Martin standing inside, scowling at him.

'What are you doing here?' asked Mr. Martin darkly and tossed the young aurors on duty a suspicious glare. Harry debated on the wisdom of telling the truth, as he really didn't want to make trouble for anyone. But then again, Mr. Martin would without a doubt find out sooner or later, and Harry felt compelled to take revenge for the argument that had occurred between them a few days previously.

'I've been visiting my dear old professor,' Harry smiled brightly, his green eyes glittering mischievously in a decidedly Weasley-like fashion. Mr. Martin stepped out of the elevator and pointed a finger in Harry's face, the latter being just a few inches shorter than the former.

'I gave you specific orders to stay away from my prisoner,' growled Mr. Martin, his grey hair falling into his reddening face, 'who the hell do you think you are to disobey my orders?'

Harry got the disconcerting feeling of déjà vu and found Mr. Martin to remind him of an aggravated Snape just too much for comfort. Narrowing his eyes, Harry took a step away from the accusing finger.

'You needn't worry,' he said casually, 'I didn't harm him; I just removed his blindfold for a few minutes.'

'You _what?_' hissed Mr. Martin, 'are you aware of how dangerous that man is?'

'As a matter of fact, I am. He has been inside my mind countless of times because Dumbledore got the brilliant idea of wanting him to teach me Occlumency. Quite the disaster though, I assure you.'

At the mention of this, it was Mr. Martin's turn to take a few steps backwards.

'Snape taught you Occlumency?' he asked doubtfully.

'No, as I told you it didn't work. Some… things got in the way.'

Mr. Martin was silent for a while as he studied Harry up and down. 'Snape must really have been devoted to Dumbledore to let anyone even near his mind,' he said quietly after some time.

A burning hot explosion suddenly awakened the anger inside of Harry at the thought of this, and he could hardly keep back from throttling Mr. Martin right there in front of the aurors.

'How dare you,' hissed Harry instead, 'Snape killed Dumbledore! I was there! I saw it with my own two eyes! I was there god damn it but I couldn't stop it and I saw that MONSTER murder Dumbledore!'

Mr. Martin's eyes widened and he took yet another step away from Harry.

'Calm down boy,' he said as he watched Harry nearly hyperventilate. 'I said what I said because I was on Snape's case during the first war as well. I only know that Dumbledore trusted Snape completely, and I think I can understand why.'

'What do you mean?' growled Harry, aching because the mentioning of Dumbledore's trust continued to cut him so deeply. Harry had thought the wounds to be healed, but the feeling of acid pouring into his bloodstream testified to the opposite.

'Lets just say Snape has a way of making one see his point of view even if one doesn't want to, and that is why he is currently blindfolded.'

'Just because he can see inside our minds doesn't mean he knows how to control it,' muttered Harry, but he knew what Mr. Martin was referring to. Perhaps Snape hadn't been as weak and helpless as he had appeared, bruised and pale, chained like a beast to the floor.

'God, what am I getting myself into?' murmured Harry quietly, resting his burning forehead against the palm of his hand. Mr. Martin looked at him curiously, but didn't ask what Harry had meant.

Harry felt slightly panicked, but calmed himself as he remembered that he would be able to control Snape's magic. He was not entirely sure how the slaverbond worked, but if he gave Snape orders not to use his Occlumency skills then he most probably wouldn't be able to do so.

'I need to be going now,' said Harry in a slightly more collected tone, trying to brush past Mr. Martin, but the older auror wouldn't let him. Mr. Martin took a heavy grip around Harry's upper arm and kept him in place. Staring deep into Harry's eyes, Harry knew that even though Mr. Martin was no occlumens, there was no doubt that all his years as an auror had taught him one or two things about understanding the human psyche.

'You're a good guy,' Mr. Martin said, the delicate wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled, 'just try and be careful around someone who appears vulnerable, for a Slytherin knows how to play their games. I know, as I'm one myself.' Mr. Martin winked and let go of Harry's arm. The elevator door had opened once again, but Harry didn't step into it. What had Mr. Martin meant? 'Go now,' urged Mr. Martin, and pushed Harry in the back.

---

'There you are, Harry,' said Bill who stood outside Scrimgeour's office, his arms crossed over his chest and legs slightly parted, ready to stop anyone trying to enter.

'How are things going?' asked Harry, already having calmed a bit down after the walk from the dungeons. Bill just shrugged his shoulders and looked at the office door. Apparently he had been standing outside the entire time and had little clue as to what was going on inside. 'Do you think I can enter?'

'Sure, you're the one they're discussing after all.'

Harry nodded as he stepped up to the door and gave it two knocks before entering. Inside he found Percy with his notes spread out all over Scrimgeour's desk. The owner stood behind it, a finger to his lips and seemingly in deep concentration. The others were scattered all over the room. Mr. Weasley stood by the window and seemed reluctant to have anything to do with what was going on at all. The twins kept rapt attention, and so did Charlie.

'Ah, Harry,' beamed Mr. Weasley from the window as Harry closed the door behind him, 'I was just wondering where you were.'

Harry just nodded and moved over to Percy and glanced down on the many documents. They didn't make much sense to him, so Harry decided to concentrate on Scrimgeour's reactions instead. The Minister was currently studying Harry quite intently, his yellowish eyes narrowing dangerously behind his glasses. Harry and Scrimgeour did not enjoy each other's company, and Harry wished they could have managed their case without contacting him about it at all.

'So you think you have the strength to Master Snape do you,' said Scrimgeour after having stared sufficiently at his young rival. 'I would have liked to tell you that this is completely out of order, which it is, mind you, but young Percy Weasley here does have a point. We all need the information Snape carry, and not even veritaserum seems to do the trick.' Percy raised his chin at the mention of his name, looking quite pleased with himself.

'You need not worry Harry,' said Percy calmly, 'the magic of the slaverbond will protect you from any assault Snape might make on you. Minister Scrimgeour knows this, of course.'

'Such an ambitious boy you are,' growled Scrimgeour to Percy, 'but, I'll give you my assent to this. On the condition that the Ministry may know all the information that is forthcoming from Snape. But young Mr. Weasley knows this, of course.'

'Of course,' ground Percy out and bent to collect all his papers, but Scrimgeour stopped him by laying a hand on his wrist.

'Let me look through these papers once more, it might help me in persuading some other Ministry personnel.'

Percy retracted his hand from Scrimgeour's touch as if burned, and took a step backwards. It seemed like Harry was the only one noticing this, however, as the other Weasleys were busy standing up and exiting the office.

Once outside, Harry turned to Percy who was absentmindedly cleaning his glasses on his robes.

'You're certain the magic of the slaverbond will be sufficient to keep Snape at bay?' asked Harry, not liking the vulnerability in his voice one bit. But what Mr. Martin had told him had made him think, and Harry wasn't certain he knew how to control Snape at all. The man had managed to trick Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the century!

'Of course I am certain,' nodded Percy as he replaced his glasses on his freckled nose, 'the aristocrats who invented the slaverbond spell certainly didn't want their slaves to be able to rise up against them.'

'I'm curious though, how come enemies doesn't enslave each other as revenge and such?'

'Well, a few centuries ago, that happened quite a lot, I assure you. But because of that, a few restrictions had to be made; one can't just pick a random person on the street and bind them with the slaverbond anymore. The Ministry has to approve, which was what we just made them do right now.'

'Oh…' said Harry, trying to follow Percy's pace after the other Weasley's down the corridors. 'So it's really happening; I will become Snape's master?'

'We'll have to wait for the green light from the Ministry first, but yes, it's happening.'

'Shit.'

---

Harry was pacing up and down the kitchen, making the other occupants decidedly uncomfortable. This was the day. Four days had passed since the meeting with the minister, and just yesterday they had received an owl from Scrimgeour himself, telling them that Snape was being cleaned up and made ready. Harry had been asking countless of questions of anyone who happened to pass him by, and he had read Remus' book from cover to cover twice. He knew approximately what was going to happen, but he could have sworn his legs would give out underneath him at any moment. Taking a chair by the table, Harry sat down heavily, making the others breathe out in relief.

What if he did something wrong? What if he screwed it all up? Hermione had already dropped by the Burrow, trying to talk some sense into Harry. This had made Harry almost give in and agree to not enslave Snape, but Percy had made a timely entrance. He had scowled at Hermione, the heat rising in his face, and a huge argument had broken out between the two of them. It had not been pleasant as they both used their highly advanced intellect in trying to force the other into a corner. It had eventually ended when Mrs. Weasley had entered the room and ordered them both to be silent. She had stated that she agreed with Hermione that this was a despicable action to go through with, but it was the only chance they had. Hermione had stood with her mouth open, staring at Mrs. Weasley whom she had always counted on as a companion in such discussions. The final blow against her seemed to have crushed some of Hermione's spirit, but Harry had been mistaken as she had ruffled her feathers, given them all one last burning glare before exiting the Burrow in a rage for the second time. Mrs. Weasley had taken to tears and left them all to make some tea in the kitchen. Percy on the other hand had sunk down in a nearby chair on shaking legs. Resting his elbows on his knees he had hid his face in his hands and sighed heavily.

'You're in love with her, aren't you?' had Harry asked, but Percy hadn't answered.

Staring out of the kitchen window at the greying sky, Harry tried to calm himself again. Mr. Martin had just scared him with his ominous warnings, and Harry shouldn't listen to that old auror. He was if possible even more off his rocket than Moody. The entire Order wouldn't have been for this idea if there was any danger to it.

'Ready?' asked Fred settling himself in the chair opposite Harry.

'You look dreadful,' chimed in George, taking the seat beside his twin.

'No, and thanks,' muttered Harry, slowly taking his gaze away from the window.

'It'll be alright mate,' nodded George, 'we're all going to be there with you, there isn't a thing Snape can do against you.'

'Yeah, well…' Harry trailed off as he didn't really want to appear doubtful or weak in front of the twins. 'I'll be ok; it's just a big thing to be doing, after all. I mean, once it's done, it can't ever be undone.'

'Kinda like marriage, just worse,' agreed Fred, tapping his chin, 'sounds awful actually.'

'Now now,' interrupted George, 'you're making Harry ill, he's going all green.'

Harry didn't argue that he felt like he was about to throw up all over the newly washed kitchen floor.

---

Just as Harry stepped out of the floo and into the gigantic entrance hall of the Ministry, he could feel all doubt leave. He was on a mission, he had a duty to do, and he would certainly enjoy this one. Or at least so he told himself.

Percy had gone through all the practical aspects of what laid a head of them with Harry once more, and this too had helped to calm him down a bit. Most of the magic needed were to be conducted by Ministry personnel, and in this case Scrimgeour had volunteered himself.

The ceremony, if one could call it that, would be taking place in an old abandoned office on the third floor, and that was where they where heading. Just a few people from the Order had been chosen to follow Harry through this, namely the twins, Ron, Remus, Moody and of course Percy.

As they reached their destination they found Scrimgeour and his assistants already there and ready to begin. Now they only needed Snape. Looking around himself Harry found all the things for the ceremony had been laid out, like a piece of black coal and a pair of manacles. On the floor they had drawn a circle with white chalk.

Harry startled as he felt a hand clamp down upon his shoulder, but when he turned around he was relieved to find it to be only Ron. The young Weasley had been uncharacteristically quiet since Hermione's departure, and Harry knew Ron felt more or less like a fish on land without her. Standing on tiptoes, because Ron had grown just that tall, Harry embraced him in a manly hug and clapped him on the back.

'Everything's going to work out fine,' Harry tried to comfort his friend just as much as himself. Ron nodded and gave a little smile, squeezing Harry's hand as a sing of good luck.

Looking around himself, Harry located Remus standing against one of the walls looking sickeningly pale. Harry knew this went against Remus' basic ethics, but why couldn't he just view this as payback for all the things Snape had done to him?

All sound and quiet talking died down as a sudden commotion from the hallway drew all their attention. Quite violently the door was forced open and in walked Mr. Martin and two aurors. Behind them came yet another pair, and these held between them a raging and kicking Snape. He was still blindfolded with the black piece of cloth, but his filthy robes had been exchanged with clean ones. They seemed to be old and discarded auror robes, and the shocking red colour made Snape look like an entirely different person. But Harry had little time to contemplate this as Percy nudged him to make himself ready. Still Harry got distracted again by Snape who seemed quite beyond himself.

'You can't do this,' he growled, his voice still raw and raspy, 'you can't!'

Every occupant in the room seemed to close in on themselves, disappearing in the shadows. Mr. Martin on the other hand wore an expression made of stone and motioned for the aurors to lead Snape into the circle. Snape had in the mean time managed to get a heel down on the floor and was forcefully kicking back. The aurors lost their grip on him for a few seconds, but regained it almost instantly.

Dragging him the last distance they finally managed to place him on his knees in the middle of the circle. As his knees forcefully encountered the floor, Snape hissed out in pain. Harry didn't doubt that nearly two weeks of being chained into a sitting position on a stone tiled floor could seriously damage one's knees. But even now Snape kept on trashing, making half sensible threats and pleas.

Scrimgeour coughed, waving Harry to step into the circle in front of Snape. One of Scrimgeour's assistants collected the coal and Snape's wrists were finally released from their chains. Snape predictably used this opportunity to try and wring his slender arms out of the auror's grips, but to no avail. One of the aurors untied the blindfold quite rudely and took a hold of Snape's hair to force his head back. Harry felt something inside him try to jump through his mouth as he stared down on Snape's eyes. They were looking right up at him, wide and pleading, but worst was the tears. _The tears_.

'Potter,' a voice suddenly commanded, and Harry's head snapped around to look at Scrimgeour. 'Your hands.'

Harry did as he was told and held forth his hands. Scrimgeour took one of them in his own and proceeded to draw Harry's family crest in the palm with the piece of coal. The other hand went through the same process, and soon Harry was standing there and looking at two identical drawings. Slowly he turned around again and looked down upon Snape whose head was still being held in place by the hair. Stretching out, Harry took a hold around Snape's wrists and the two aurors let go of them, taking a grip on his shoulders instead. The arms where white as paper, but the bruises and wounds from the chains marred them in an ugly way. The strength in them as Snape kept fighting was surprising, seeing as he had been imprisoned for such a long time.

'Let me go, please,' Snape suddenly began pleading, staring into Harry's green eyes. 'Please.'

'Shut up,' growled Harry, tightening his grip around the bruised wrists on purpose.

'Very well, let's begin,' announced Scrimgeour, and stepped into the circle as well. 'I will now read some of the basic rights and laws for both the Master and the slave that will be forced upon you both by the magic of the spell I am about to cast.

Concerning the slave:

"_A slave must never act against his master's wishes_

_A slave must obey all direct orders_

_A slave must also obey all indirect orders_

_If a slave has committed a punishable act, they will be taken to court, but will not be able to speak their own case_

_A slave may not work more than six days a week_

_A slave __will no longer have a surname after the slaverbond has been completed"_

Concerning the Master:

"_A Master will be able to control the slave's magic at all times_

_A master has the right to put restriction charms on the slave_

_A Master is allowed to rename the slave whatever he or she wishes_

_A__ master is responsible for the slave's welfare_

_A master may n__ot kill his slave by starvation, maltreatment or punishment"_'

Retracting his wand from the sleeve of his robes, Scrimgeour held it over Harry's hands on Snape. Harry embraced himself by taking a deep breath, and locked his eyes on Snape whose head had to be kept in place. Scrimgeour was not a man to waste time, and began his spell casting before Snape had the possibility to wring his head out of the grip that held him. Once the incantation had begun, there was no way they could break contact.

Harry had no idea how much time they used as he stood there, Snape's wrists securely held in his hands. He could feel the coal drawings burn in his palms, but not unpleasantly. Looking at Snape's expression, it seemed to be quite painful to him.

Eventually Scrimgeour's voice died down, and a last glow of magic made its way around Harry's hands and Snape's wrists. It was over. It was really that easy.

Shocked by the fact that the climax had come and gone, Harry hurriedly let go of Snape's shaking wrists. The family crest had been burned into the white flesh and the black tattoo was red and pulsing.

Really, it had been that easy. Just like that a life had been forever taken away from another person. Harry couldn't quite believe what he had just done. Snape sat there, still on his knees with his hands limp in his lap, and all fight had gone out of him. The expression he wore was a mixture of anger and utter disbelief. Harry was certain that his own mimicked it to some degree, and he took a few steps backwards until he was outside the circle.

'Harry?" a nervous voice asked right behind him, and Harry nodded to show Remus that he had heard him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Snape. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah… yeah I'm alright,' he answered, but Harry could hear the slight quivering in his own voice. He wouldn't be able to fool anyone like that. Slowly but deliberately he let his eyes travel from Snape's defeated form and up to Remus' big, questioning eyes, and he smiled. 'It's done now. The plan has been executed successfully, we should celebrate.' Remus nodded slightly, but he didn't look entirely convinced as he studied Harry's eyes.

'Well, that went without a hitch,' Percy suddenly piped up walking towards Harry to give him a pet on the back. He looked paler than usual, his lips tightened into a forced grimace. Harry knew that Percy had always admired Snape as a fellow intellectual and someone to try and please. It must have been difficult for him to see someone he had always viewed as an authority become degraded in such a way. A lot of Percy's world had fallen apart since the beginning of the war and this must have been yet another blow to him. Perhaps he had thought Snape to be able to trick his way out of it, as he had always been able to do. Certainly Harry realized now that some of his shock stemmed from the fact that this had been too easy, Snape had been supposed to slither his way out of this. Yet he hadn't, and now he was bound to Harry forever.


	6. The slave

**The ****slave**

They were all set to travel back to the Burrow except Percy whom had been called back by Scrimgeour to deal with a few minor issues. He had tried to excuse himself with the fact that he was needed back at the Burrow, but Scrimgeour would have none of it. The victory that so shortly had glowed on Percy's face had faded quickly. Harry could understand his disgust at having to stay with the Minister; there were still a lot of issues that Percy had not worked out after they had found him beaten and tortured almost senseless. Any type of aggression coming from anyone seemed to put the young man ill at ease. Scrimgeour was a rowdy man of nature, scaring Percy probably more than he understood. Harry squeezed Percy's shoulder in the passing and gave him a half smile. He didn't return it.

Remus had gone over to help Snape to his feet, but Snape had darkly ignored the inviting hand and rose from the floor without any aid. The marks on his wrists pulsed red on top of the already bruised skin. Harry began wondering how long it would look like that, and if it would ever fade at all. Maybe there were some healing herbs that could ease the swelling. Mrs. Weasley most probably knew of it.

The others had apparated their way back to the Burrow, but Harry decided that the floo would be the most efficient for him and Snape since Snape no longer had a wand. Turning around to collect what was now viewed as his possession, Harry found Snape standing a few feet away from him, staring at the wall. It was obvious that the robes he wore had been meant for someone with a little bit more meat on their bones than Snape, but they had probably not been able to find any other robe that fit him in height. It gave Harry a disconcerting feeling to watch Snape standing there in red robes and beard stubble on his cheek. Snape's gaze left the wall and rested on Harry, an impatient look of "what're you looking at" on his stony features. Harry narrowed his own eyes and nodded his head for Snape to follow him.

The story that The Boy Who Lived had just gotten himself a slave would most probably be all over the Daily Prophet within hours. And the fact that this slave was none other than his former professor, Dumbledore's murderer and Voldemort's most loyal servant would most likely make the gossipers dizzy with joy. Even during war there was no rest from the eyes of the people. No matter what he did, it was of interest to someone, Harry couldn't fathom why.

Stopping to wait for the elevator, Harry fought the desire to turn and look at Snape one more time, to make sure that he was indeed following. Snape wouldn't have any other choice; the magic of binding was too strong for him to resist. The elevator doors finally opened, and Harry stepped into it, turning to watch as Snape obediently followed. His mouth was set; he was clenching his teeth together so hard his jaw almost quivered with the strain. Anger, Harry guessed, anger he couldn't unleash on his Master so it was all boiling inside him. Harry recognized the feeling, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel any pity.

Since the Ministry were in a great upheaval nothing worked as it should and the only department working at its full capacity was the auror division. This meant that the elevator which usually was quite crowded rarely saw any usage at all. Carefully glancing sideways so that he wouldn't seem curious, Harry watched Snape standing completely still, his arms carefully resting at his sides.

The elevator ride seemed to go on forever, and Harry wasn't certain if he should have said something. Maybe he should have enlightened Snape as to his circumstances, to tell him that the best thing for him would be to cooperate. But it seemed awkward and pointless. Snape was no longer chained to the floor with a blindfold around his head. He was standing tall beside Harry, looking completely barred off from the rest of the world.

The echoes of their feet were loud in the empty entrance hall of the Ministry, and Harry found himself grateful when he could fish out the little purse with floo-powder from his pocket and throw it into the fire.

'Go into the fire and call for the Burrow,' Harry ordered, his voice eerily misplaced after the long silence. Snape did as he was bidden, and stepped carefully into the green flames. He bit out the words, and Harry watched as he disappeared up the chimney way. Harry quickly threw himself into the fire, having by now learned the fine art which was floo-travelling.

The kitchen was as crowded as it used to be, and everyone tried to discreetly watch Snape as he stood quietly beside the hearth, waiting for Harry. There was nothing that could cover up the pulsing red on his wrists, and his slavery was a secret to no one. Harry felt a sting of anger that they dared to gawk so at his possession. The dark look Harry gave them must have gotten the message across, because they were soon leaving the kitchen muttering quietly between themselves.

Mrs. Weasley on the other hand, sighed quietly to herself where she stood staring out of the kitchen window before turning to look at them. It seemed like she had aged many years during the hours Harry had been gone. Lines grazed her brow and around her eyes, her mouth was pinched tightly together and her skin had gone grey.

'Please sit down Severus,' she said quietly and indicated a chair by the table, 'I might be able to calm the wounds on your wrists.' Snape hesitated just a moment too long before complying with her request.

'You know,' Mrs. Weasley continued, 'I still remember you from your first year at Hogwarts. You were just a silly little boy back then.' With these words she sighed yet again, a sigh that Harry was certain strained her heart to its very limits. She continued to carefully dab at Snape's left wrist with a cloth smelling of chamomile and antiseptics. Snape didn't answer her, concentrating on not flinching in pain as she worked on his wounds.

Harry carefully rounded the table and sat down on the chair opposite of Snape. There was something about Mrs. Weasley which scared him. The intense bitterness that pinched her mouth had transformed her otherwise so caring face into a dark shadow. Agreeing with the Order to bind Snape must have cost her more morally than any of them had thought. But she had done it, never the less. Out of necessity and to protect her children. If this did not work to put her family out of harms way she would hate herself the rest of her life.

Just as Mrs. Weasley was done binding Snape's left wrist in an herb drenched cloth and had taken a hold of the other one, a silent knock was heard on the kitchen door before it slowly opened. Harry didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only Hermione bothered to knock on this door which was open to all. Harry continued to stare ahead of himself as she entered the room and stopped dead in her tracks, she was probably staring at Snape. Snape in turn studiously ignored everything that went around him, including both Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

A rattled breath escaped Hermione and she stepped up to the table. Harry jumped in his chair as a heavy and dusty tome fell down on the table beside his folded hands. Harry didn't want to look at it, and he certainly didn't want to listen to Hermione now, but that had never stopped her before.

'I found another way…' she announced silently, most probably still staring at Snape in horror. Harry could feel his heart stop cold in his chest, and it took an uncomfortable long while before it began beating again. Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes tightly over Snape's wrists, her hands shaking profusely.

'What?' he forced out hoarsely. It could not be the truth.

'I found another way…' Hermione stated again, tears tightening her throat. 'It's a Truth Charm, it renders the jinxed unable to tell a lie… It's a crude spell but… I thought it better than this.'

Harry now stared in muted horror at the book that was so faded it was impossible to read the text on the cover.

'I was too late,' Hermione said, forcing back her sobs, 'I'm so sorry Professor Snape.'

'Severus,' muttered Snape, it hadn't seemed like he had noticed anything going on around him at all.

'What?' asked Hermione startled. Looking up, Harry saw her vainly try to force back her tears.

'I am not a professor neither do I have a surname anymore,' spat Snape, still not looking at any of them, 'technically I don't have a name at all until Potter gives me one.'

'Harry, you haven't even given him a name yet?' Hermione sounded beyond incensed, her brown eyes boring into Harry as she knotted her fists dangerously.

'What? I haven't- I mean we just- I couldn't have- Severus then, Severus, he'll be Severus,' spluttered Harry too overwhelmed with all that had happened. How on earth could they have expected him to remember such things?

Mrs. Weasley spelled the last knot on Snape's bandaging and began cleaning the table of herbs and salves. Her hands were still shaking so that it seemed a chore for her to hold her wand still enough to conduct these simple acts.

'I'll ask Arthur to lend you his razors so that you can shave,' she said as calmly as she could, 'and then we'll try to find you some other robes. I don't know where Harry intends you to sleep though; we'll find some space… somewhere.'

Taking the box with salves with her, Mrs. Weasley promptly vacated the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with Hermione and Snape. Harry wished Hermione would take a seat; it was unnerving to have her standing behind him breathing heavily to still her raging emotions. She did, after a few hesitating seconds, sit down on a chair at the end of the table. It looked like she wanted to talk more to Snape, but his closed off expression stopped her before she even dared to begin.

'I did try though,' Hermione eventually whispered, leaning over the table to retrieve her dusty book.

'Hermione, is there a possibility this spell will still work on Sna- err, Severus?' asked Harry, feeling the strange taste of his former teacher's given name on his tongue.

'I wouldn't try it. It's an old and formidable spell and mixing it together with magic such as the Slaverbond might render a man mad.' It seemed that being confronted with answering academic questions restored a bit of Hermione's calm, and her gaze finally left Snape and landed on Harry in stead. 'Promise me you won't try that too.'

'I promise.'

Harry felt his lips twitch slightly at the words. The unpredictable anger flared up in him again at the thought of Hermione trying to force her morals on him. Squelching it as soon as it had manifested itself, Harry hoped Hermione had not seen it in his eyes. It was difficult to discern if she had, as she only nodded and let the topic rest for once.

'Granger,' Snape suddenly spoke up, 'how are the Malfoys doing?'

'Oh, uhm.' Hermione used a few seconds to think before answering, 'Draco survived, and his mother too. Mr. Malfoy is still on the run from the aurors, but I think he might turn himself in. Or at least so the gossip goes.'

Snape nodded at this, and it might just have been Harry's imagination, but it looked like his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. Who'd know Slytherins cared for each other?

A good few minutes came and went as they sat on each their side of the table, not speaking a single word. Eventually Hermione made the feeble excuse that she had promised Moody to rearrange and file some documents at the ministry. She said her good byes, but did not hug Harry, and left leaving the book on the table. It had not been an accident. Harry got up from his own chair and headed for the door leading into the living room. Snape was just a few feet behind him all the way up to the topmost bedroom he shared with Ron and the twins. Now that the room had been expanded to fit four beds, Harry wondered whether or not they could force in a fifth one, and even if it was necessary for Snape to sleep in the same room. He certainly hoped not.

The wind was blowing outside, and Harry watched the trees bend to it as dark clouds were gathering in the horizon. Maybe it would bring thunder? As Harry stood contemplating the new turn of events in his life and how to handle it, he gazed longingly up at the sky. What he wouldn't do for a game of mindless Quidditch right now? To soar effortlessly through the air on his broom, his only concern would be to catch the snitch. The world consisted of three things; his broom, the snitch and himself.

Just as he was imagining himself flying low to the ground so that he could touch the wheat standing tall on the orchards, could he hear Ron's voice behind him. Harry turned slowly and saw his friend standing in the door, looking very uncertain. It looked as if he'd spoken to Harry several times already. Looking back out of the window Harry noticed that the sky was no longer just dark because of the clouds, but because dusk was already turning into evening.

'Blimey Harry, are you alright?' asked Ron perplexed, now that he finally had managed to get some contact. Harry just nodded, still reeling over the fact that so many hours must have passed him by without him even noticing it. 'Ok,' continued Ron, shuffling his feet, 'well, dinner's ready, if you want some. Oh and Snape, I mean Severus, blimey I never thought I'd say that, dad's made ready the bathroom for you, it's just down the hall. ' And with that he was gone again.

Turning to face the room completely, Harry found Snape standing in the exact same position by the far wall, he hadn't moved during all that time either. Snape's black eyes met Harry's and they narrowed slightly.

'You can go and fresh up,' said Harry eventually, 'and then come down and eat.' Snape nodded and left, Harry had to scratch his head in confusion before following.

---

They were standing outside in the darkness, the rain that had been promised them by the heavy clouds splattering the ground so forcefully mud was being thrown about. Harry stood underneath the roof, barely managing to keep himself dry. Snape stood beside him. When Harry had gone outside because the inside of the Burrow had become too claustrophobic he had noticed that Snape followed him. As far as Harry knew a slave needn't be closer than a thousand metre unless the Master gave orders otherwise, so Harry was a bit nonplussed as to why Snape had chosen his company. Pondering this for a few seconds Harry came to the conclusion that it was not _his _company Snape sought, but the peace and quiet the outdoors could give.

Snape had finally been able to change, and the robes Mr. Weasley had found was perhaps not Snape's habitual black, but they were at the very least not shocking red. It was almost like looking at the old Snape, only the bandages around his wrists were a cruel reminder, mostly to Snape himself Harry suspected.

Snape had not spoken a word since Hermione left; he mostly stood quietly by the wall in which ever room Harry found himself. And Harry had no idea what to do with this new man that was now his possession. The hate seemed to radiate from Snape as he clenched and unclenched his hands in almost spasm like movements. Harry was glad he would have no way to unleash his anger, either physically or magically.

Stuffing his hands down his pockets Harry leaned against the wall of the Burrow and sighed.

'It's times like these I wished I smoked,' he commented into the humid air. Snape didn't answer him, but was looking in an entirely different direction. 'Well, what do you suggest we should have done?' asked Harry a bit more heated, 'it's not like you were very cooperative!'

'Don't yell at me because of your own bad conscience,' answered Snape silently but deadly, still not looking at Harry. In a flash Harry was suddenly back in his potions classroom waiting for Snape to humiliate him in front of the class. The voice was the very same, accusing Harry of believing he was something he was not. Anger burned red-hot through his blood as he stared at the man standing beside him. They were at a height now, Harry noticed, he had absolutely nothing to fear. Taking a few calming breaths, the screaming in his ears ceased and he slumped against the wall again. Snape had turned to look at him, his eyes as unreadable as ever.

'Whatever you might think,' Harry muttered, 'you still deserved it, because of all that you have done.'

'What do you know of what I have done?' hissed Snape, his hands clenching again, 'you're just an ignorant little whelp with too much power in your immature hands.'

'You're not allowed to talk to me like that anymore,' answered Harry, realising he did actually hold the power now no matter what Snape thought of him. But Snape continued to struggle with his words, he was not about to let Harry have the last word even though he had no choice. A slow grin crept across Harry's face and Snape narrowed his eyes.

'I don't suppose it surprises me,' began Snape carefully, testing every word before he spoke them, 'that you in your wisdom choose to end the subject by giving me such an order.'

The grin faded from Harry's face and was replaced by a scowl. He supposed it had been the coward's way out. How did one master a man like Snape, who knew how to slither their way out of almost any situation? The fact that the order trusted Harry to be able to lure the truth out of Snape still flabbergasted him to some degree. Even if he gave Snape the order that he could not lie under any circumstances, Harry had the feeling Snape would manage to tell the truth the way he saw it. And that didn't mean they could use whatever information he told them. There was no way he'd be able to handle this. At least not now that his mind seemed to have a life of its own; wandering away at the most unexpected times. Harry supposed he had to use time to try and figure out how Snape worked, to find a crack in his armour. The hat had wanted Harry to be in Slytherin, so maybe it was about time he used that to his advantage. Fight fire with fire, as they said. The only problem was; he didn't have time to figure out anything. People were dying each day and as long as Snape kept his mouth shut, they would continue to do so.

'You sent me notes,' Harry interrupted the silence, 'why?'

Snape looked at him somewhat startled before averting his gaze again, concentrating on peeling away some loose paint from the window still.

'I asked you a question and you must answer it,' ordered Harry, writing down that a mere question didn't seem to oblige the slave to answer it unless told so.

'Because the issues needed to be dealt with,' answered Snape levelly, now trying to remove the flaked paint away from underneath his nails.

'Who told you to send them? Always answer when I ask a question. _Truthfully_.'

'No one told me to send anything.' Snape turned with a challenging look on his face, clearly enjoying the game at some level. 'What will your next question be?'

But Harry didn't have any more questions. He hadn't gotten the truth, and that had answered the question he really wanted to ask. Snape would not be of any help if he was confronted outright. He viewed it as a challenge and a game, and would do anything to win. Or at least see Harry and the Order fail. But Harry wasn't an immature schoolboy anymore, he had seen death right in the eye, he had granted it to another living being. He was no virgin, in any sense of the word. If Snape wanted a challenge, he would get a challenge. Harry had the upper hand this round, and he'd beat his new enemy, just as he had done with the last.

---

The Burrow had been brimming to it's capacity as it was, and now that there would be one more permanent occupant it was difficult to find somewhere for Snape to sleep. The room could no longer be enlarged magically since this would put too much strain on the foundations. It was too late at night to begin the laborious work to expand and enforce the entire house just to enlarge one room a fraction more, so eventually they agreed that the twins could share bed just for that night. The next morning they would pack their stuff and head over to Bill and Fleur's cabin. They didn't mind it at all, they said, as they had wanted to find a place of their own for quite some time, and this was the first step out of their mother's clutches.

As Harry climbed into his own bed he mused that he should have been more disturbed than he was by sleeping in the same room as Snape. But they were all too tired to consider it much, knowing full well that they had brought it upon themselves. Snape, for once, seemed unobtrusive as he more or less blended in together with the shadows as he sat on his bed in the corner, his thoughts miles away from any of them.

Harry dreamt he was back in the cupboard. He had his adult shape, but somehow the cramped place fit him just as well as when he had been an eleven year old. Someone was knocking on the door, harder and harder and somehow Harry just knew that it was Voldemort; that he was back. Harry tried to retreat further and further into the darkness of the cupboard, hoping that if the door gave in, Voldemort would not see him. Suddenly, the door turned into splinters, and the head of a terrible monster appeared in the doorway. It sniffed once, twice and then turned its head towards Harry. Just as Harry curled into a ball to protect himself against it, he was back in his bed under the cupboard, and the knocking had begun again. This circle repeated itself over and over, until Harry was too exhausted to care, too exhausted to continue dreaming. He awoke sweating in his real bed, his heart racing uncomfortably.

Harry could hear the laborious snoring of Ron and the whimpering of one of the twins, apparently he was not the only one with bad dreams this night. The air in the room was too stuffed, and Harry felt like he was nearly suffocating. As he turned in his bed towards the window, he noticed a shape sitting completely still on the bed furthest to the wall. It didn't seem like Snape had slept at all. He sat with one leg on the frame of the bed, looking eerily out of place in the white and blue striped pyjamas that Mr. Weasley had borrowed him. The heavy rain had subsided, allowing the moon to shine carefully into the room, almost making Snape's pale face look illuminated. He was staring out of the window, and the few facial features Harry could discern of his face were passive, but somehow this conveyed a sorrow that seemed to stab Harry right in the chest. Snape's hands were folded around the one up drawn knee and his head rested against the wall, exposing his long, white throat. If it hadn't been Snape, Harry would have said it was beautiful.

Carefully Harry sat up in his bed and swung his feet down on the floor. Snape turned his head and stared at him, their eyes met. Harry presumed they would have met, if he could have distinguished the blackness of the other man's eyes from the shadows.

'Just going to open the window,' he whispered almost inaudibly to the room. Harry somehow felt he needed to explain why he had interrupted Snape's reverie. There was less than half a metre between their beds, so when he rose he tried to be careful not to bump into the other man. As he opened the window he treated his lungs to all the air he could breathe in. It had been raining, so the world smelled somehow cleaner, but the humidness had not disappeared and it made the air feel almost physical against his sweaty skin.

'What did you dream?' a low voice asked behind him, and Harry turned to look at Snape. The question had caught him off guard and he didn't know whether to answer or to tell Snape to mind his own business.

'Just something,' Harry finally shrugged, settling on something in between. As he turned back to the window he noticed that it was not only the moon that illuminated the room, the sun had carefully begun to spread its rays in the east. The light stretched, colouring the few clouds that remained on the sky, making them look like fairytale kingdoms. A hand brushed by Harry's shoulder and made him startle. Snape stood beside him; Harry hadn't even noticed that he had risen from the bed.

'Be careful to not look at the light,' Snape whispered warningly, making Harry frown in confusion and irritation.

'Why ever not?' asked Harry loud enough to make one of the twins turn in their bed. He lowered his voice and growled, 'who the hell do you think you are?'

'Severus,' answered Snape automatically even though it had been a rhetorical question. Harry had after all given him orders to answer all questions truthfully earlier that evening.

Harry was still damp by the sweat after his dream, his breath hitching painfully and the adrenaline coursed through his blood. To concentrate on something but the stuffed and crowded room around him, Harry had managed to forget the fear for a few alleviated seconds. Snape still thought he could dictate Harry, even with the Potter's family crest burned into his skin. 'You murdered Dumbledore,' Harry reminded Snape, as well as himself, in a hiss. He wanted to make sure that he did not forget why he hated the other man, why he had done this in the first place. Snape's eyes widened a fraction; the morning light made them glitter dangerously. Wanting to take a step backwards, Harry could feel his bed thumb his calf and he stood still. He had to stop being afraid of Snape, he could not let this man rule him anymore. They stood too close, forced together by the two beds and the wall, Harry turned to the window and rested against the window frame. He felt ill, as if a fever was making his body shiver even though he was burning up inside.

'I can't breathe,' he finally managed to gasp, clutching at his throat. He didn't know why he was telling Snape this and why he didn't just walk out of the room and away from them all. A hand took a hold of Harry's arm, not too loose and not too hard; Snape couldn't hurt his master, and pulled Harry away from the window and across the room to the door. Snape opened it, and kept on dragging Harry down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the garden. Harry didn't know why he was following; he just did because he couldn't find a reason not to. The air outside was just as humid as it had been up in the room, but Snape kept on walking. They were both in their pyjamas, without any shoes or socks. The grass was wet and cold, and felt like heaven to Harry's burning skin.

He felt like a sleepwalker, letting Snape lead him out of the garden, through the gate, over the road and into the fields. The wheat was tall, reaching the both of them to their waists and soaking them completely in the dew. White, fragile moths rose into the air as they disturbed their sleep, like ash fluttering in the sky.

Slowly, it became easier to breathe as the field stretched out far and wide in all directions. Snape stopped just as the hill began climbing downwards again, giving them a view of yet another field, divided by a contently clucking creek. The hand holding his arm let go, and for a few staggering seconds, Harry wished it hadn't. They stood there, breathing in the silence and the life, watching the shadows retreat.

Why? He wondered. Why had Snape taken him there? Had there been something Harry had said, that indirectly gave Snape the order to help him? He did not ask, did not breach the subject. They couldn't talk here. Somehow, the fields with the dew glittering in the rising sun and the wheat gently whispering to each other had become something sacred.

When Harry turned to walk back to the Burrow, he would know that there had been a moment when he had dreamed of nothing but the present.


	7. The master

**The Master**

The days had become heavy and grey but no rain was forthcoming. Harry couldn't really remember when the weather had become so important to him. It must have been when they had stopped calling him in for auror duty and he had ended up with nothing else to do but sit and stare out of the window. But lately he hadn't even been able to do even this in peace, as Snape had gotten the irritating habit of distracting him every time he fell into his own thoughts. Harry didn't know whether he was grateful or just really annoyed by this. Somehow Snape had become Harry's only companion through the last days, though neither of them cherished this turn of events. They wouldn't talk, there weren't really anything to talk about, but they noticed each other. If anyone had asked, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to explain it, but he could feel Snape and wherever he was in the house, and sometimes he would get a vague idea of what he was doing. Though never anything explicit. Harry figured it was a part of the slaverbond which he had not been aware of before, and knew Snape had it the same way. Most surprisingly to Harry though, this felt natural.

But never the less, he couldn't help but grit his teeth when he felt Snape standing in the doorway into the living room as he was watching the clouds thicken in the horizon.

'You just can't leave off monitoring my every move, can you?' asked Harry coldly and turned to look at Snape. One and a half week might have passed since Snape had been let out of his imprisonment, and the bruises on his face had begun to fade into a bluish green hue. He looked far from healthy, but the pasty white skin and blue shadows were returning to a more natural colour. Having gotten food and sleep at regular hours, he also seemed stronger and more vigil.

'Was there something you wanted?' asked Harry with a tint of steel in his voice. Snape had grown increasingly adept at avoiding answering questions even if he had gotten the direct order to always answer with the truth.

'I wanted you to stop indulging yourself,' answered Snape at last, indicating Harry's habit of wasting time on nothing.

'I'll bloody well do whatever I want,' muttered Harry, feeling the heat of annoyance raise in him. 'What else is there to do, really?'

'Read a book maybe?' answered Snape in a tone of voice that could, if you put your will into it, indicate that he doubted Harry was capable of this. Harry wouldn't have minded reading at all, if only there had been any books around worth his time. The Weasleys had apparently never really been the type of family to collect books. Except for Percy, who guarded them with surprising intensity and Harry didn't think he'd be allowed in the general vicinity of them.

Hermione had stayed away since her last visit, and Ron had more or less faded into the shadows. Which was highly unlike the both of them, and Harry found he was mourning the loss of his constant companions acutely. It would have made no difference if he had awakened in the hospital and heard that his friends had been killed in battle. Just the thought of either of his once smiling friends made his stomach surge into a terrifying void, as if he had been standing on the edge of an immeasurable height. There was nothing else to do to avoid the terrifying fall than to turn away and keep as far a mental distance as possible. Pretending everything was alright was the only thing he could do until things somehow turned back to normal.

Why had he been so desperate to survive the last battle with Voldemort? Why had he even cared? It would have been so much easier to lie down his life together with his arch enemy, then and there. He would have been praised a martyred hero, and he wouldn't have had to deal with any of the chaos that followed. But to die now…

Harry turned away from the window again and looked at Snape who was still standing in the doorway. He had crossed his arms and was leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, as if patiently waiting for Harry to come back from which ever world he had visited.

'Had you ever expected to survive the last battle?' Harry asked, surprising even himself in voicing the question. Snape looked reluctant to answer, and it was quite noticeable on the crease forming between his brows that he was trying to find a way around it. Eventually, after having opened and closed his mouth a few times, he shook his head. 'I suppose none of us really did,' said Harry darkly, still studying Snape who for once tried to avoid his gaze.

The silence that had become so habitual between them was suddenly shattered as the kitchendoor burst open in the next room. A group of chattering voices drifted in through the doorway Snape was standing in. Harry recognized some of them, but surprisingly not all.

'Who is it?' he asked as Snape turned his head to get a look himself.

'Hmm,' Snape murmured deep in his throat and put his back firmly to the now without a doubt crowded kitchen. 'Seems to be various Weasley family members and an assortment of other questionable types such as a flearug, a sociopath and a sour, old cat.'

'Who are you calling a sour, old cat?' questioned McGonagall as she materialized beside Snape, giving him a tap on the shoulder with her tartan hat. Snape had straightened up from his slouching position at the doorframe, and could barely look down at the tall witch. She was looking him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, her sharp eyes lingering on his healing bruises. Raising her hand, Harry expected her to give him a slap and was half out of his chair when he realised that she was merely brushing away a few strands of his hair. Almost as an afterthought, she gave his cheek a couple of careful pats. Apparently Snape had too expected something violent to transpire, as he had recoiled slightly before the touch and was now looking quite perplexed. Settling down heavily in his chair again, Harry realized he had been about to stop McGonagall in manhandling the man he hated above anything, and wondered why. He also silently questioned why the sight of such kindness towards Snape had given him a painful lump in his throat.

'No time for you to be sitting in your chair now, Harry,' informed McGonagall and nodded to him in greeting as she had just noticed his presence. 'The Order has been called together at my behest, and I expect you to attend the meeting. You too Severus.'

After a short fifteen minutes the rest of the active members, excluding Hermione, had arrived at the Burrow. The lack of their bushyhaired friend had drained any will to participate in the meeting from both Harry and Ron. They didn't doubt she had been informed of the meeting, and the fact that she didn't show up when it was something as important as this, meant that she had been serious about staying away. Exchanging a hopeless glance, they both turned their attention back to McGonagall, who was about to lunge into her speech of what ever was on her mind this time.

McGonagall, who had never been a woman of procrastination, lunged right into the core of the meeting and announced that she was opening the school for education again. The school had been closed up many months ago to be used for the Soldiers of the Good to prepare against Voldemort and his followers. Now it had lately been used as a hostel for families who had lost their home, as a gathering place for people to be able to find a bit of comfort in the seemingly unending chaos. McGonagall meant it was the best for the entire society that at least something went back to a functioning state. Giving the children the possibility to return to their education would in a large degree return their every day lives to normal. Or at least as normal as they could make it. The Order was inevitably soon divided on whether or not this was a good idea or not. Some meant that they could not give up the school as a hospital for the wounded, and others meant McGonagall was making a strong point in allowing the children at least an ounce of stability. Harry was of the latter party, though he had yet to speak up.

'This is for the children,' Mrs. Weasley said, rising from her chair to look at them all around the table. 'They have a right to education, they have a right to learn about their magic and to be given a childhood. Who knows how long this civil war will go on? We cannot let these barbarians dictate whether or not our children shall be allowed an education!' There was a collective murmur of agreement around the table as everyone found this idea pleasing.

'But what about the homeless then, Molly? The wounded? Where are they to go if the school re-opens? The Burrow can't room all those people, as well as you know.' This time it was Moody's questions that got approving and considering nods.

'Just because people are incapable of finding a place to stay, doesn't mean children should go uneducated. It's almost a year since the school closed up, what is happening to the eleven year olds who were supposed to begin last year?' The room went deadly silent as everyone turned to stare at Snape, who was busy looking as if he hadn't opened his mouth at all.

'What?' asked Moody eventually while the others exchanged confused glances. 'Who ever gave you permission to talk?'

Snape's eyes shot up and his upper lip turned into his well practiced sneer, 'I don't need permission to talk as long as I am not denied the opportunity to.'

Moody's face coloured red and he moved both his eyes over to Harry. 'Learn to keep your pet in a tighter leash would you?' he growled, spittle nearly flying out of his mouth as his mad eye threatened to take a spin around in its socket. Before Harry was able to decide on whether to chastise Snape for having opened his mouth or to tell Moody to mind his own business, Snape had leapt from his chair and planted both his hands on the table with a loud thud.

'How_DARE_ you, you mad fuck!' screamed Snape, his voice so strained it broke of at the last word. His fingernails were digging deeply into the wood of the table, making a thin trail of blood emerge at the corner of his nail grooves. Harry could feel unreleased magic prickle at his skin, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.

There was only a table between Moody and Snape, who both looked as if they could effectively rip the other apart in mere rage. It didn't seem as if Moody's advantage of having a wand was daunting Snape the least as he barred his teeth like a canine. Harry was certain Snape would have made a jump straight across the table if he had not lounged out to grab a hold of his shoulder.

'SEVERUS. SIT. DOWN! _DOWN!_' he bellowed, giving a heavy tug to make his order clear. Snape's body was resisting the urge to obey so strongly the muscles in his arms and legs began to spas. 'Sit down,' said Harry again in a low, nearly inaudible voice. Snape's own will was broken and he fell to his knees on the floor, his head bent. The blood crusted fingers kept on clenching and unclenching in his lap and Harry realized Snape must have gone mad when he suddenly began to laugh. They all stood horrified around the room, either exchanging glances or staring at Snape whose laughter didn't seem to die down as it took on an edge of the hysterical.

Harry was certain that if he didn't do something soon Snape would lose what little he had left of his sanity. The laughter emitting from the broken figure on the floor was choked up between a hiss and a sob, making his shoulder shake painfully.

The other people in the room were beginning to move uncomfortably. Mrs Weasley had grabbed a hold of her husband's arm, while both Remus and Bill had gotten up from their chairs, presumably to help Harry. Suddenly Snape looked up, a forced grimace of something between a snarl and a smile played on his lips. His eyes met Harry's squarely and suddenly it became easier to understand what it was Snape needed. It was solitude; the possibility to gather up the broken pieces far away from other people. Harry understood the feelings that surged through him, knew he had felt them for himself too many times to be able to count them anymore. He bent down and took a hold of Snape's arm.

'Stop it. Come now,' he commanded, and the laughter ceased at once. Harry had always reluctantly admired Snape's grace, particularly in duelling, and could feel how his body and muscles moved as he stood up in one fluid motion. It should not have been something to contemplate, or even think about, but Harry did.

'Do you need help?' McGonagall asked as she was the first to gather her wits after the unexpected outburst. Harry only shook his head as he firmly escorted both Snape and himself out of the kitchen. He had unconsciously chosen the exit into the garden, even if it had not been the closest door. The dark grey skies and heavy fog gave the impression that dusk was falling, even if it was still just in the middle of the afternoon. Walking over to the bench that was placed by the garage he removed the old, rusty bikecycle with a random rubber duck taped to the seat and sat down. Snape still stood where Harry had left him in the middle of the garden, the too big and blue robes looking all too hot in the warm summer air.

'Come and sit down,' Harry sighed quietly and was about to repeat himself when Snape turned and moved towards him. Whether he had heard Harry's subdued voice or if he had done it out of his own violation was impossible to guess. 'Do you know where your clothes are?' asked Harry, only to receive a shrug.

He had gotten slightly tired of how one-sided their so called conversations were. The fact that Snape was nearly the only person he had communicated with in days made Harry feel both tired and alone. In a house with seven permanent residents and people coming and going both day and night it was rather peculiar that Harry found himself alone most of the time. People seemed to give him a wide range. When he before had had to fight for a spot on the kitchen floor, he now could find himself entirely alone in the living room at most times during the day.

'I want to go back to being an auror,' Harry said, not expecting an answer. 'It's not that I like the work, but it was something to do, at the very least.' The silence stretched out and Harry had come to hate his own voice and the hollowness it left. Turning to look at Snape beside him, Harry had to hold himself from startling backwards. Snape looked wretched. It was not the bruises, nor the paleness of his skin or the lankiness of his now too long hair. It was his eyes, they were dead. Harry had seen dead human eyes before. Glazed, staring into nothing. They were no longer a mirror to any soul, just a part of a decomposing body. The sight was horrifying, and in his shock Harry couldn't make up his mind on whether or not Snape had actually died in the short time span he had been talking. Stretching out a hand carefully he patted Snape on the arm.

'Sn..Severus? Severus!' Harry was shaking the arm now. 'SEVERUS!'

Finally the other man blinked. Slowly he turned his head and looked back at Harry, who let go of his arm in disgust. 'You're not allowed to scare me like that,' he huffed settling back on the bench before promptly straightening his back again. 'And you can answer me you know! I am tired of talking to a damn wall!'

Snape blinked again, his eyes quickening slightly. 'I thought you said something along the lines of "you can't talk to me like that anymore," a few nights back?'

'I meant in the degrading manner you do,' Harry ground out, trying not to slap his forehead in exasperation. 'You do know how to converse without talking down to a person, don't you?'

'Possibly…' mused Snape as his eyes wandered off again and roamed over the garden before landing on the house. Or more specifically; at the door that was being opened and revealing an unusually merry looking McGonagall with Remus at her heel. 'I am supposing she got her will,' Snape commented as the spring in her step certainly conveyed satisfaction.

As McGonagall proceeded across the yard fanning herself with her tartan hat, Harry began to shift uncomfortably on his bench. Her hair was now completely silver grey with not even a strand of black in it, and she looked older than she had ever done before. She gave them both a curt nod and began to explain that she had indeed gotten her will, and that the school would be re-opening to anyone who chose to send their child away at the beginning of term. The hospital wing would still be held open to accommodate the recovering wounded who were turned away from St. Mungos. Harry was happy about the news. It felt as if the slippery ground under his feet suddenly became a fraction easier to balance on. A smile crept across his face and he couldn't help but turn and see what reaction Snape was having to this. It was not surprising to find his face impassive, but Harry knew this was a turn of events the old teacher liked. He had been preaching for it during their short stay at the meeting, after all.

'But we do, of course, have a request for you Harry,' said Remus doggedly. His hands were hidden deeply in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, and his white hair hung around his face in matted strands, much like Snape's. Harry heaved a great sigh and leant back on the bench, folding his arms in light irritation. When neither of them were willing to explain what was going on, he gave yet another exaggerated sigh and shrugged one shoulder, 'what is it?' Their fear of him was getting old.

'Oh, we want you to come and help us out at Hogwarts, Harry,' said McGonagall who had never been one to put up with his acts for long. 'It seemed to me that you have been bored as of late, what with your auror duties diminishing. It's not healthy for a young man to sit in a chair waiting away the days. I also think you'd appreciate an opportunity to help with the school. We need someone adept in the Dark Arts to help teaching the children, you are that person.'

Harry made a sour grimace, but he knew she was right on each of her points. Giving it all due consideration, Harry had to admit that the thought was actually rather appealing.

---

The old, faded and chipped trunk stood right in the middle of Ron's crowded room and was currently under strict repacking. Mrs. Weasley had helped as well as she could by repairing some of Harry's old clothing and adding an article or two. Harry had given it up as a lost case and was just throwing in random things without bothering to see if it was orderly. Hermione had once put a charm on his trunk to prevent anything from shattering in there, and this had given Harry the perfect opportunity to not care one bit about how he packed his things. Not that he ever had, mind.

'I am still wondering about your clothes,' said Harry who had found one of his old Quidditch magazines and was leafing through it with an eerie sense of nostalgia. 'And no shrugging, shaking of head, lying or otherwise refraining from telling the actual truth.' Harry hadn't turned away from his packing even once to look whether or not Snape was actually in the room. He hadn't needed to. Snape was never further away than a few meters. Harry wondered why, because there was no reason to this as he had never given any orders concerning distance. It was surprising Snape was not trying to use his wits in figuring out how to stay as far away from Harry as humanly possible.

'Actually, I am not certain where any of my belongings are.'

'Well, tell me where you _think_they might be or where they were last you saw them,' said Harry and rolled his eyes. Wringing a useful answer out of Snape was like guiding a blind hippogriff through a store full of valuable china: painful, tiring and completely impossible.

'Most of it would most probably still be in my quarters at Hogwarts. Unless, of course, they have been burned or otherwise destroyed. Anything else should have been at my house in Spinner's End. But I do believe it has been auctioned off long ago.'

Wiping a few droplets of sweat from his forehead, Harry rose from the floor and fell down on his bed with arms splayed out at his sides. 'Huh,' he said as an afterthought. 'I don't think I have heard mention that anyone have touched your stuff. Might still be there. Merlin's balls, it's hot in here.' Stretching out, Harry could feel every muscle in his body ache as if he had been running up and down all the stairs in The Burrow. His breath was slightly laboured, which was ridiculous since he had done nothing but pack the entire morning. And he was sleepy, so incredibly sleepy. Letting his burning eyes glide shut for a second he could feel someone's hand shaking him carefully. Trying to swap it away like a fly, the irritation wouldn't cease. Rolling around on his side and digging his face into the mattress only made the person more insistent.

'Wake up,' Snape's voice said, with a tinge of urgency in it. Harry frowned to himself.

'I'm not sleeping, I was just resting a bit, do you mind?' The hand which had been shaking his shoulder retracted and Harry could hear a short intake of breath.

'It's been four hours.'

A chill went through him and his heart skipped several beats before starting again in full force.

'_What?_ You're lying!' Rolling over on his back again Harry stared up at Snape with an incredulous expression on his face. _four hours_? He had not slept for _four_ hours. He hadn't slept at all!

Snape let his narrowed eyes travel up and down Harry's body before landing on his face again. Bending down he carefully let the back of his hand rest against Harry's forehead before moving his palm down to cup his cheek. Much like Molly used to do whenever she was checking if Harry had a fever. The action was so startling in its affection Harry's mouth fell open and was unable to look away from Snape's intense gaze as he continued to scrutinize him. Brushing his long hair behind the ears, Snape cocked his head slightly before trailing his hands down Harry's t-shirt to feel his chest and stomach. The unexpected closeness made the breath hitch in Harry's throat and he couldn't help but feel both highly uncomfortable and pleased by it. It felt good to have someone's hand on him, but it felt appalling once he remembered it was Snape's.

'What are you doing?' Harry finally managed to squeak, laying his own hand above Snape's. Whether to push it away or to make it stay he didn't know.

'You have just been sleeping over four hours and deny the fact,' said Snape in a measured tone. It was probably hard enough for him to let his hands be so close to Harry's throat and not throttle him to be able to really put any politeness into his voice. 'I think that is reason enough to see if you do not suffer from a fever or something similar. How does this feel?' Snape was giving slight pressure to his palm as he let his long fingers glide over Harry throat, neck and shoulders.

'_Good_,' answered Harry, startled at the warmth in his own voice. 'I mean, it doesn't hurt or anything.'

Snape nodded and continued his slight pressuring ministrations slowly up Harry's neck, eventually cradling his head. But then suddenly, it couldn't have been more than a slight tap at the upper part of his neck, pain stronger than the cruciatus shot through Harry's entire skull. Shouting out and pulling away from Snape in pain, Harry managed to lose his balance and fell off the bed and down on the floor with a thud. The pain had been so sudden and excruciating Harry couldn't help the tears streaming down his face. A strangled sob managed to escape, forcing Harry to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep another one from emerging.

'What is going on here?' asked a worried voice from the door. Harry was still too much in shock from the pain to be able to react. He expected Snape to answer and to shoo the person away to give Harry his solitude. Irritation shot through the daze in his mind when this did not happen and he sat up with a frown on his face. Remus had walked over to Snape who sat on the floor, one hand cradling his head, the other trying to keep Remus from reaching him.

'What's the matter with you?' asked Harry, struggling up on his shaking legs and stepping over the bed to have a look at Snape himself.

'Did he hurt you in any way?' asked Remus, his eyes opening wide as he finally got a look at Harry. 'What did he do to you?' Any interest in Snape's wellbeing was hastily discarded as he rushed over to Harry. 'You're drenched in sweat and your eyes are completely redshot! What has happened here?'

'Nothing really,' Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly. For some reason Harry didn't feel like telling Remus anything of what had been going on. As if what had transpired between him and Snape had been too personal for that. 'He was just giving me a massage, and I suppose he hit a tender nerve. It hurt a bit but really, it's nothing.'

Snape was still sitting on the floor using both his hands to hold his head which was bent, making it impossible to see his face. But there was nothing disguising the drops of blood that had begun to drip down onto the floor, and Harry felt a growing anger inside him. Snape had no right to sit there like some suffering martyr. It was disgusting really. Bending down and grabbing a hold of Snape's hair, Harry yanked his head upwards. His eyes were rolled back in his head and dark red blood was freely running down from his nose, pooling in the corner of his mouth.

'Any pain a slave might cause his Master is magnified tenfold to the giver,' said Remus as he was pulling out a handkerchief of his jeans pocket. 'I suppose Snape must have caused you quite the headache.' Harry's anger suddenly turned into embarrassment, he should have remembered that. Taking the handkerchief out of Remus' hands, he folded it into a neat square and began dabbing at the blood underneath Snape's nose. It was slightly worrying that the bleeding would not cease and was now passing the lips, trailing down Snape's chin and throat. Harry gave Remus a panicking look which was returned in kind. 'We must get him downstairs I think,' said Remus before lowering his eyes. 'I am sorry, but my joints and back is not what they used to be… I don't think I am able to carry him.' The old, tugging guilt which Harry felt every time he thought about Remus' illness returned. It should have been something he could have done about it. Something, it didn't matter what. To feel so powerless brought up a certain sickness that gnawed at his heart, wearing it even thinner. But there was no point in talking about it, Harry knew. Nodding in understanding, Harry took a hold of Snape's arm and draped it around his neck. Bending down and giving it a tug, he soon had Snape resting against him and a hand around his waist to keep him up. He was ridiculously light, as if his bones had been hollowed just like a bird's. The surprise of the lack of weight nearly unbalanced Harry, as his tug had been a rather forceful one.

Remus hurried over to the door to hold it open as Harry dragged Snape out and onto the landing. Snape was still cradling his head and a quiet whimper escaped him, but he managed to gather his legs to help Harry keep his weight down the stairs never the less. On the second landing they were blocked by Bill and Fleur on their way up with each their great bundle of linens.

'Hey,' said Harry, as he tightened his grip on Snape who was trying to stand on his own. Both Bill and Fleur looked perplexed at the sight of Snape and his bloodied face. Having used his hand to hold his head, he had also managed to smear the blood not only across his cheek and forehead, but also his hair and Harry's t-shirt.

'What 'as happened 'ere?' asked Fleur after having exchanged glances with Bill, unconsciously taking a step away from them both.

'Just a terrible accident, that is all,' assured Remus, 'we are taking him downstairs to see if there's not something we can do to stop his nosebleed.'

Bill nodded slowly before motioning his bundle of linens towards Remus.

'I could help you carry him Harry,' he said, 'if you could help me out with these Remus?'

Fleur's eyes winded a fraction before narrowing down into a dangerous scowl. It didn't seem as either Bill or Remus noticed this as Remus accepted the linens and stepped out on the landing to wait. Bill, looking oddly relieved, reached out, grabbed a hold of Snape and threw him over one of his broad, leather clad shoulders. 'Come on then Harry!' he called out as he was already good on his way down the stairs. Snape was hissing obscenities like an angered snake, but seemed too dazed to fight off Bill's rather rogue treatment of him.

'Vel then, Remus. I suppose _we_'ave to do all the beddings then,' huffed Fleur, brushing past Harry in a swirl of flower scent and blonde hair.

---

The sight of Snape being carried downstairs on Bill's shoulders caused a bit of commotion with the newly returned aurors and other people that tended to flock to the Burrow during the evenings. As they sat him down on a chair in the better lighted kitchen, Mrs Weasley had already scurried over with her emergency kit before either had even gotten the opportunity to ask her. One of the older aurors stood by the kitchen oven with a pipe in his hand and narrowed his eyes at Snape.

'That's the Death Eater who killed Dumbledore isn't it?' he muttered as the kitchen went quiet, 'the one that got slavebound to you, Potter.'

Harry looked up surprised, and then chided himself for it. The last couple of days had been such a blur he had almost forgotten the outside world existed at all. Of course everyone would know about the slaverbond and what kind of relationship Harry had to Snape. The fact that so many had now seen his slave beaten senseless and bloody would not make a good impression. But as Harry let his gaze glide across the room and saw all the hateful eyes not glaring at him, but at Snape, he didn't think there would be any further consequences for what had happened.

'Not to interrupt or anything,' another man suddenly spoke up, 'but that man would need medical attention right this instant.' The silence couldn't possibly have grown tenser as every eye in the room wandered from Snape's painful sight to the man by the window. He squirmed uncomfortably. 'I'm a mediwizard… I think in medical terms first and foremost… it's not like I have any sympathy with the bugger.'

'Of course not,' said the man with the pipe, 'it's just a bit disconcerting every time someone shows empathy for those animals. One never knows who is a spy, you know.' This seemed to be the general impression around the room, as people begun to nod and exchange glances. The mediwizard squirmed even more uncomfortably.

'Look, I mean it. I have no empathy for him, if it was up to me I'd let him bleed to death at once. But it looks like both Potter and Mrs Weasley here are seeing something they want to salvage, and I thought I'd just let them know that regular healing potion won't help.' The man's voice had grown more and more high pitched during his speech, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead under the glare of the crowd.

'They're like a pack of wolves, turning on their own,' whispered Mrs Weasley as she held a piece of cloth under Snape's nose. 'The mediwizard has a point though Harry, I don't have anything for this. Can't you floo into Hogwarts and hand him over to Poppy? I can ask Ron to floo after you with your things whenever he comes home.'

Harry was more than appreciative for having been given a reason to escape the now hostile atmosphere in the kitchen.

---

'So there won't be any long term damage?'

'No, he might suffer a headache the coming days, but there is no need to retain him here. I have stopped the bleeding and given him a strong painkilling potion.'

Harry nodded his gratefulness to the young mediwitch with a bright phoenix on her crisp, white robes and headed down the aisle. The atmosphere in the hospital wing was calmer than the evening Harry awakened after the Last Battle. The familiar scents enveloped Harry, giving him a comforting, if alien, feeling of wellbeing. He had never thought that the hospital wing would ever be such a welcoming sight to him.

After Harry had delivered Snape to the care of Poppy he had been promptly chased out of the hospital wing with the message that he could return in an hour. Harry had spent the time visiting McGonagall in the Headmistress' office and giving the new room he would be living in that year a once over. It was a nice and well lit apartment with a study, a living room area with a small kitchenette and a rather large bedroom. This was all placed in the south-western parts of the castle and had a nice view of both the lake and the fields beyond. It seemed unbelievable for a second that he would be able to have all this space for himself, not having to share with anyone else. Harry couldn't remember a single night he had not spent either cramped into a small space or with someone else. And more often than not, both crowded and cramped at the same time. It had been slightly daunting to stand there in the middle of what would become _his_living room, looking into what would be _his_bedroom, alone. It was not the Dursley's, it was not co-owned with four other boys and it was not the Weasley's.

As he had returned to the hospital wing he had discovered that Snape had been handed over to the care of a mediwitch he had never seen before. She was also completely qualified and not merely a person who had been handed an apron for the occasion and thrown into the battlegrounds. Apparently St. Mungos' leadership had been replaced during the war and a new and stricter policy had been put into place. St. Mungos effectively turned away every wounded that had any connections to Death Eaters, both in past and in the present. This had erupted into a strike from some of the staff who felt this was entirely out of place. They had all been fired and had then moved on to Hogwarts which kept its doors open for any who would seek help.

Walking down the rows of beds, Harry didn't have to look up to find Snape. He had known his location the second he had placed his feet inside the hospital wing. It was quite unsurprising that they had chosen to place him in the more vacant, far corner of the hall, probably to avoid making the other patients uncomfortable. Snape sat in a pair of trousers, his bare feet slightly touching the cold marble floor. His robes were draped over the end of the bed, the same old faded blue he had worn for days. Harry made a mental note to see if Snape's room had been left alone since his flight after Dumbledore's death.

Walking up to him it was easy to notice the black skull marring his left arm. The mark still made Harry as sick as he had been the first time he had learned what it meant. Seeing his own family crest burned on the same arm didn't make Harry's distaste fade. If anything, it made him even sicker. Snape had clasped his hands in his lap, and sat with his head bent, but still surprisingly straight in the back. It looked as if he was praying. The long, dark hair was trailing down his neck, lightly brushing the pale skin of his back. He was thin, the skin hugging his ribcage and hipbones snugly. It was no longer a wonder why he had weighed next to nothing.

'The mediwitch told me you were ready to go,' said Harry after he felt he had been staring long enough. 'She said you had gotten a bottle of painkillers and that it would get you through.'

Snape nodded curtly before raising from the bed to reach for his robes. By doing so the white light of the hospital wing put his bruised skin into contrast, making it even more visible.

'Ah, that looks painful,' commented Harry, reaching out a hand to lightly trace the vivid red mark stretching from Snape's hipbone to his middle back. Snape's breath hitched as he retracted from the touch, a flash of hatred crossing his face. The silent aggression in his expression had been enough to ignite Harry's old flame of hatred. It rushed through his blood so strongly it made Harry dizzy. Taking a strong hold of Snape's slim wrists he barred his teeth in anger. 'You are my property now,' he growled, 'you very well do as I say or suffer the consequences.'

Snape's nod was miniscule, but it was a nod. He would have to acknowledge Harry as his master.


End file.
